Sugati
by Duo Radon
Summary: Three years after the events in District 9, Christopher and a poleepkwan battalion have liberated the residents of District 10, including Wikus. In a strange turn of events, Wikus finds himself human again and must adjust to life with his alien brothers.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 **

**Stranger in a Strange Land**

Mankind had speculated about the nature of the Universe from the very moment he understood that the stars were not illuminations of the gods. Since then, his clever brain willed into being fantastic machines to photograph the unobtainable filament of creation itself. From a microscopic blue pocket of life in a previously unvisited corner of space, humans have glimpsed gargantuan towers of gas, lethal black holes, the birth and death of stars and countless galaxies of every possible configuration. They were, however, just pictures; goals to be achieved. The greatest minds in space exploration could only dream of the day that Man would journey outside his own solar system.

And yet, one unlikely human being was doing just that, although his venture had certainly not been undertaken for the noble purpose of advancing the species. On board the poleepkwan freighter Fiordraa, tucked away in his cabin, Wikus van de Merwe was as far removed from the wonders of the Universe as it was possible to be. While the scenery outside the massive floating metropolis was undoubtedly awe-inspiring, Wikus was unable to see past the muddled torrent of conflicting emotions that filled his brain and tugged his conceptions of self in every direction at once.

After all, it had been a trying week and a half. Which, in itself, might not have been so bad if it hadn't come at the tail end of a three year exile in a Hellish prisoner camp. Three long years defending his life and the lives of his adoptive comrades against a far more advantaged militia had finally come to a close with the appearance of the Fiordraa and its cavalry of warriors. In a quick, bloody strike, every alien refugee had been liberated, Wikus among them. Saving his life was a daunting prospect at the time, but it wasn't as though he was the only poleepkwa to leave Earth beaten and bleeding. Nevertheless, after having been patched up, a full recovery looked promising.

But now, Wikus lay in his bunk, removed from the hectic activity of the Colony, his future hazy once again. The reverted human peered at his thin, pale hands, wiggling his ten fingers as if he didn't believe they were there. The fact that they looked odd to him was, in itself, strange. This was _his_ body, after all. He hadn't seen it in over three years, but it was his. Still, it had no reason being here.

Wikus ran through the course of events again in his mind, trying to come to terms with them. After the departure from Earth and his treatment in the med bay, he'd been free to recuperate in the comfort of a two-bed cabin, looked after by Yeen, the drone previously labeled "Christopher Johnson". His familiar face had been a comfort, and the bright-minded poleepkwa seemed almost delighted to be supervising Wikus's recovery. The days that followed were fairly pleasant; Wikus put his regenerative abilities to good work and healed quickly. And then, four days ago, fate threw him a curveball.

He'd felt something was off just before bedtime, but unable to articulate any real symptoms, he'd kept the problem to himself. Yeen made sure his charge was comfortable in the bottom bed before retreating to the top one, which he shared with his young son, Joji, and the trio had gone to sleep as per the usual routine. It wasn't long, however, before Wikus was wrenched awake by the most excruciating torment he'd ever known. Every iota of his being surged with a sickening pain, as though he were being burned alive. He found himself unable to move, see, speak or hear. Perhaps worst of all, he was being suffocated, completely unable to draw even a small gulp of oxygen into his screaming lungs. He didn't even know if anyone was aware of his plight, or if they'd be able to help if they were. Wikus reacted the only way he could: he fought like mad. As the lack of air drew strength from his beleaguered body, he willed himself to kick, to thrash, to move _anything_. With a sound like cracking bone, he was finally able to jerk his form into an upright position and was shocked to hear his human voice cry out in anguish. Looking down at himself, he realized he'd broken out of his poleepkwan carapace like a cicada from its shell, his malnourished mammalian body sitting in the hollow remnants of the alien form he'd come to know so well. His pink skin was profusely smeared with a slimy reddened mucus and the smell of decay was thick in his nostrils. Wikus was vaguely aware of Yeen beside him, purring some kind of reassurance, but his vision was cloudy and his ears caked with muck. The convulsions began seconds later, accompanied with a cruel resurgence of searing pain. Someone must have paged Grenyo, the lead physician, as he appeared a moment later with a sedative. The last sensation that Wikus could dedicate to memory was an intense relief as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The Earthling was dependent on the recount of his companions as to what had happened next. Apparently, he'd been kept in the emergency wing for the following day, under intense surveillance. When the medical crew was certain his vital systems were stable, they'd revived him and sent him back to his room. No one, not even Grenyo, had any explanation as to why or how this had happened, or what it would mean for his future. They weren't even able to confirm how long he'd continue to live. Even at this moment, the doctors were utilizing all of their complied experience, knowledge and technology to make sense of the event. Grenyo had only been able to assure Wikus that he'd made a name for himself in the records of genetic transmutation for the extraordinary transformation, but that hadn't done much to boost his spirits.

The positive aspect of his current situation seemed to be that Wikus was steadily feeling better. Lying in his sealed bunk, he was acutely aware of the steady ache in his muscles, but the nausea and headache were greatly diminished. At least his surrounds were cozy. Submerged in thought, he pulled the thick, warm pelt up to his chin. Such trimmings weren't commonplace on the ship; in fact, poleepkwan living quarters were, by human standards, very Spartan. The décor wasn't lacking due to an absence of materials, but rather, a lack of necessity. As Wikus's compatriots had explained on Earth, they had little understanding of a need for "style". Making variations of the same object, or possessions that served no practical purpose, simply for the sake of preference was an alien concept.

As a result, the little cabin, like all the habitats on the Fiordraa, was quite plain. The room was rectangular, an entrance at one end, with two partially embedded bunks in the facing wall. At the foot of the beds was an octagonal metal table attached low to the floor, with stationary padding around it for occupants to kneel upon. In the far corner was the entrance to a narrow, well lit lavatory. There was a replicator, a communication link and monitor, a few storage units and the poleepkwan equivalent of a clock, but otherwise the room was empty. Even the walls and ceiling were bereft of any adornment other than the standard two-color block pattern that marked functionality on most of their technology, and a series of well-maintained pipes fastened neatly above.

Wikus might have found these cold metal surroundings disparaging three years ago, but today he was dreading the time when he would have to step outside his comfortable nest and rejoin the Colony. Of course, the nature of the bunk itself may have been a weighty factor in his desire to stay. It was oval in shape, the roof of the bed above concave, with a sliding wall that could be closed to completely encompass the occupant in his very own isolation chamber. Once snug inside, one could adjust the temperature, air flow and lighting. Wikus knew it was no accident that it was very much like being inside a giant egg.

With their sturdy exoskeletons, however, poleepkwa rarely found a need for blankets and pillows. But once Yeen had learned that his friend's transformation seemed to be permanent, he'd busied himself obtaining materials to make Wikus as comfortable as possible in an environment that had not been designed with anything like humans in mind. It was all the more necessary considering the furless alien didn't own a stitch of clothing. So this meant a trip to the manufacturing department, where drones converted hides from enormous, bison-like livestock into satchels, tool belts and the like. Leaving the luxurious, chocolate hued fur in place and fusing two pelts skin-sides together, they'd made three huge, supremely comfortable blankets. Accompanied with a couple soft cushions, Wikus now slept cradled in a capsule of plum fluff.

It was peculiar to the human, then, that he should be so agitated. He had been sleeping almost continuously since he'd been returned to his bed, and it appeared that his body had had enough rest. Wikus rolled onto his side once again, trying to will himself to sleep. And again, his green eyes refused to remain closed. Instead, he lay gazing at his most recent gift, a tan and gray doll with darker brown patterns on its limbs. The miniature drone was made of a material reminiscent of fabric, but it didn't have as soft a consistency as a plush toy. While it was unusual for an adult to sleep with a toy, his cabin mates reckoned the man might need a cheerful accessory to brighten his mood. Why Joji had insisted on this coloration when Wikus had worn a green poleepkwan shell he didn't know; it had seemed impolite to ask. Its name was Pedro.

Wikus picked up his artificial companion and resumed lying on his back. He pivoted the adjustable legs forward and sat it on his chest, Pedro's happy face smiling back at the comparatively morose alien. For a moment, Wikus envied the doll...no worries, no shady past, just joyful all the time.

"I've got to be losing it..." he mumbled, setting Pedro aside again. Maybe it was time for a more invasive distraction.

A little, illuminated square hovered over the surface of the bunk wall to his right, glowing a bright blue as did every poleepkwan menu system. A quick tap of the finger expanded it into a small monitor, and a tap-and-drag moved it from the wall to the bunk roof. All monitors on the Fiordraa could be used to access something like an intergalactic Internet, holding an enormous selection of broadcasts and data. Many of the things Wikus flipped past made little sense to him, spoken in foreign languages accompanied by unfamiliar subjects. But one of his favorite discoveries was the ship's catalogue of sentient alien species, of which there were over 6,000 dossiers complete with pictures. While Wikus could speak Poleepkwan fluently, he still read and wrote at a rudimentary level. Perusing documents like this was good practice and besides, the images were the most interesting part. Some of the races were beyond bizarre, while others looked hauntingly Earthly, like mutations of existing creatures.

More importantly, the fascinating digital record was sufficient to distract the Earthling from his emotional baggage. That was, at least, until he passed the point in the catalogue where "Humans" ought to be. His race hadn't yet been entered, and Wikus's chest felt heavy again as he began to wonder what it might say about them.

The sliding wall of the bunk flew open, snapping Wikus out of his rumination with a jolt and an expletive. He found himself staring into a pair of yellow eyes, widened with concern.

"Are you okay?" Yeen queried, placing a hand on Wikus's shoulder, fearful he might have instigated another episode.

"I'm...fine! You scared the crap out of me, man."

The drone's expression changed to one of perplexity, cocking his head to one side in a very bird-like manner that Wikus never ceased to find amusing. Yeen turned his attention to the human's lower body, and Wikus quickly waved a hand in the air between them.

"No, it's just an expression."

"Ah. Another one of those," he said, his face relaxing.

"Yeah. I've got to learn to stop using them..."

"How are you feeling?" Yeen resumed, genuinely concerned.

"Actually, not horrible," Wikus sighed. "A lot less pain than yesterday."

"Very good!" Yeen chirped. "Listen, it's time for dinner, I think you should come down to the mess hall with us. You need to start eating real food."

Wikus couldn't argue that; he'd had nothing but liquids, medicines and nutritional supplements since boarding the ship. However, it wasn't his stomach giving him problems now, but his brain; a far more difficult fragment of his being to appease.

The human turned his attention away from those optimistic eyes and picked at a fingernail instead. He paused momentarily before answering.

"Mm, no, I don't...really feel up to it. Thank you, though."

Yeen considered his options before deciding not to push his patient too brusquely.

"As you wish. I'll bring something back for you later. If you change your mind, this is the way to go," and the poleepkwa turned to gesture towards the cabin door. "Turn to the right and follow the corridor down to the elevators. Go down to Deck 4, take another right and follow the signs," he turned back to Wikus. "The blue ones. Yes?"

"I understand, yes..." Wikus assured him, regretting his decision already but unable to muster the strength to accompany his friend. Feeling oddly ashamed, he rolled back onto his side, facing the wall.

"Here, these are for you." Yeen added gently. He placed a pile of soft objects onto the bed and slid the wall closed the way he'd found it.

Wikus remained still for several minutes, torn between a yearning for companionship and a stubborn reluctance to face his future. The monitor that had been distracting him from his predicament only a moment ago was now beginning to irritate him, and he switched it off testily. Didn't he have the right to be frustrated? He'd had his entire life forcibly removed and replaced with an alien one. And he'd dealt with it. He didn't have a choice, but he had learned to accept his lot. And just as soon as it looked like he'd be able to make this new attainment a pleasant one, he'd be inexplicably reverted into the body he'd been so feverish to reclaim in the first place. Once again he was alien, and his proper place was already an insurmountable distance behind him. It seemed to Wikus that some unseen force was conspiring against him, determined to prevent him ever being whole again.

Unable to be still, the Earthling tossed back to his left side, grunting crossly. As he did so, his knees bumped some of the items Yeen had left. Wikus realized he'd hardly been listening when the drone gave them to him, and his exasperation was immediately replaced with curiosity. Groaning like an old man with arthritis, he pushed himself upright and sat cross-legged beside what turned out to be a set of new clothes. Wikus unfolded them, inspecting each piece carefully. They were uncannily similar to things he might have worn back home, and manufactured with inhuman precision. He wasn't able to assess the method of construction; there didn't appear to be any stitching. But they were definitely made of some kind of fabric, soft and durable. There was a tannish gray, long sleeved T-shirt, an insulated dark blue vest with a high collar, a light pair of green gloves, a simple pair of under shorts and a heavy pair of dark brown trousers with an extended waistband that served as a belt. Evidently, he mused, the craftsmen had not been able to make sense of some of the items that humans used, and had made their own improvements. The attached belt was affixed with a surprisingly elegant, highly reflective silver buckle, and Wikus ran his fingers over it momentarily, admiring the unfamiliar metal.

"Ooh..." Wikus uttered aloud as he folded the pants neatly and turned his attention to a pair of dark gray boots. He picked them up one at a time, turning them over adoringly. They were very much something he'd have bought had he discovered them on Earth. Simple in design but beautifully crafted, they resembled a typical work boot with a zipper running up the front. It was made of the same silver metal as the buckle, but Wikus was baffled as to how it actually worked. The track didn't appear to have teeth, yet somehow the tab sealed the two sides together completely, making a very satisfying "voosh" sound as he pulled it up and down. The interior of each shoe was lined with the same rich fur that made up his bedding, which explained the absence of socks.

The human was eager to get dressed, but there was one last item to inspect. At the bottom of the pile Yeen had placed a large leather satchel, covered with pockets and straps. Lifting it, Wikus found it had contents of its own, and he dumped them out in his lap. There was a hair brush made of an oval disc of indiscernible material, with a leather strap fastened across it, similar to the sort of brush used on horses. Wikus slid it over his right hand and savored the lovely feeling of pulling a brush through his hair again. He was still a bit grimy from a lack of proper bathing, but putting his short brunette hair in order made him feel worlds better.

The second bit was a clear glass-like bottle filled with what appeared to be water. After turning it over several times, Wikus opened it and gave the contents a sniff. It smelled rather pleasing, but he opted not to taste the stuff until he knew what it was for and set it aside with the brush.

The last of the gifts was the most intriguing, but its function was also a mystery. It was obviously a machine of some kind, roughly six inches long and resembling a vegetable peeler. It had a thick handle that narrowed about halfway up, jutted to one side a bit, and continued forward. The thinner half had inward facing prongs at each end that told Wikus it must produce an energy beam of some kind. The smooth pad on its handle was obviously the switch, and with a quick tap the lower half of the miniature display illuminated in the familiar blue. He pushed the lighted button from the lower half of the pad to the upper, and sure enough, a continuous beam of white light flicked on between the prongs, parallel to the thinner bar.

Wikus admired the tool, waving it back and forth in the air around him. He cautiously touched the light to his fingertip, then pressed it against his palm. It felt slightly warm, but otherwise, seemed to have no effect. Somewhat perplexed, he continued to run the beam over his flesh, but it wasn't until a sprinkle of shorn hairs fell from the back of his hand that he understood. The proverbial light bulb lit, and he shoved the wall of his bunk aside excitedly. His atrophied body resisted, causing Wikus to stumble across the room like a drunk, but he was eventually steadied in the lavatory facing a full length digital panel. He quickly optioned it from opaque to reflective and turned his face to the mirror. As he pulled the beam down along his thin cheek, the coarse, scruff hair was efficiently removed right to the follicle, leaving his skin clean and even.

Wikus grinned at the razor. The last time he'd shaved his face had been the morning of his promotion, so long ago; the day his life had changed forever. He continued his task, and then paused for a moment to consider his visage. It might not have a scrap of significance anymore, but he opted to keep the mustache. He'd worn it for so long it had become a part of his persona, and he needed something familiar right now.

Wikus could feel a hint of confidence brewing in himself as he returned to the bunk. He replaced the three objects into the satchel and set it on the bed for Pedro to look after before returning his attention to his clothes. His renewed body had undergone many internal and external scans during his treatment and they had no doubt used those schematics to design his coverings. Everything fit beautifully with the exception of being overly large. Clearly they expected him to gain weight, though he couldn't help but wonder if they'd overshot it a bit. The belt had to be fastened on its first notch and there was still plenty of room.

Nevertheless, it felt spectacular to be dressed in human clothes again, smart and tidy. Wikus looked down at himself approvingly, particularly enamored with his new boots. As if vying for attention, his stomach complained loudly, reminding him there was someplace else to be.

"Well," he sighed, "no time like the present."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

**A Book by its Cover**

The crowded mess hall was overflowing with enthusiasm as half a million refugees reveled in the abundance of food, eager to replenish their malnourished bodies. Yeen seemed to be the only one in low spirits as he picked quietly at his meal. He was sharing a table with a small group of adults, each of whom had known Wikus well on Earth. Joji was beside him as well, accompanied by a pair of young playmates. The little verdant drone gazed up at his father quietly, anxiety growing in his round eyes. Yeen regretted any occasion when his concerns transposed to his son. He forced a smile and gave Joji a reassuring pat on the head. The child brightened immediately and returned to his food, which was currently offering more entertainment than nourishment.

"You're not eating," Brutus stated plainly. The big ebony drone had already downed his sizable bowl of noodle-like Waal and was busy cleaning sauce from his tentacles. "Are you sick?"

Yeen glanced sideways at the larger poleepkwa, a bit exasperated that the dull inquisition had wrenched him out of his musings. "No."

"Is it Wikus?"

"Yes. Brutus. It is," he grunted, fidgeting his mandibles irritably.

"Look," Brutus continued, ignoring or unaware of his friend's displeasure. "He'll be fine. It's only been three days, give him some time to recover."

"It's been four days, and it's his attitude that worries me. It's like he's given up."

"You just like to worry."

"And you never worry about _anything_," Yeen retorted, though Brutus clearly didn't see this as a problem. It didn't come as a surprise, but it was annoying. Still, it may have been that very attitude that had kept him going back on Earth.

Brutus was a drone of extremes; nothing about him was subtle. He was quick to anger and his temper was ferocious, but he was also unfailingly loyal and, rumor had it, capable of surprising tenderness. His carapace was almost purely jet black, streaked throughout with variegated azure and interrupted by charcoal gray mucus membranes. His exterior seemed rather plain when compared to some of the more erratic patterns of his fellow drones, but he made up for a monochromatic shell with electric green eyes and a personality to match.

Brutus may have been a little on the dim side, but he'd had enough sense to protect the mangled and helpless Wikus in District 9. They developed a fast friendship, and Brutus had been the first to stand by the converted human during the resistance in District 10. In fact, he probably knew Wikus better than anyone else. If he was so entirely unconcerned about the man's state of mind, maybe Yeen _was_ overreacting.

* * *

Wikus stepped out of his cabin and into the dimly lit corridor; the warmer, familiar illumination at his back. He'd been down this hall before, of course, though in varying stages of lucidity. He remained in the block of pale light the open hatch cast and then, reluctantly, pushed the appropriate button to seal the room. The heavy door swooshed shut smoothly, squelching the only slice of comforting habitat he knew on the ship.

The corridor was surprisingly still. The only sound Wikus could detect was a gentle humming and a rhythmic thump that must certainly be produced by some operating mechanism within the Fiordraa. The hall was lined on both sides with doors just like his, but every poleepkwa not engaged in an activity critical to the ship would be in one of the four commissaries by now, leaving living quarters like this one deserted. Even though one could obtain food from the replicator each cabin possessed, poleepkwa were highly social creatures. Not only did scheduled meals make for a more efficient work day, it afforded everyone the opportunity for crucial interaction, something the lonely human desperately craved.

As he stood huddled in the eerie cobalt glow, allowing his eyes to adjust to the low light, Wikus shivered and his thoughts inevitably returned to his fragile human form. His new outfit was actually doing a fair job keeping the chill off, but he knew he wouldn't even have noticed the temperature if he'd still had his poleepkwan body. It wasn't as though he disliked this one; quite the opposite, in fact. But he'd resigned himself to life in an invertebrate's shell, to life on another planet...it wasn't supposed to happen like _this_.

His thoughts drifted to the woman he'd left behind...Tania...her eyes, her smile, the life he'd built for them, the sound of her voice when she'd left him, and he buried his face in his gloved hands miserably. In truth, he wasn't upset with her for finding a new partner. Mourning the loss of a spouse was an excruciating ordeal, but never knowing one way or the other if that spouse was dead or alive, if he'd ever return, waiting months, then years with no closure, was a far greater burden. Pile on that all the rumors and lies about the nature of his disappearance and it was no small wonder that the terrified woman would want to rebuild her life. Wikus was strangely relieved when he saw her with another man last year. He'd carry the scar on his heart for the rest of his life, but it wasn't fair to expect her to wait indefinitely, immersed in perpetual grief. At least she'd seemed happy.

Wikus began to wonder if he'd ever know what that felt like again. Four days ago, he was one member of a family three million souls strong. Today, he found himself in the utterly unique and petrifying position of being the only one of his kind. Worse still, he was the enemy again, a visual reminder to every refugee on board of their former tormentors. The news must certainly have spread through the populace by now, but Wikus couldn't possibly imagine how they'd reacted to it. Yeen and Joji would almost certainly stay by his side regardless, a miraculous relationship considering how they'd treated each other when they first met. But sacrificing one life to save another created a matchless kinship that no amount of time or distance could erase. He'd also had a few particularly close comrades in District 10, and Wikus would be astonished to see them desert him now. But then, he never would have thought anything could have turned his beloved wife against him, either. The vast majority of the District had never known him as a human, and the few who had...well, he hadn't made a very positive impression on them. Would they tear him apart in a fit of revenge? Perhaps they'd give him a trial and lock him up for the rest of his lonesome life. Wikus grimaced at the thought. What was a poleepkwan prison like?

Even if his fears were for naught and the best case scenario occurred, the solitary human still faced an arduous path to normalcy. He was effectively pushed back to the educational level of a five-year-old; he would have to learn _everything_ again. History, laws, languages, social norms, everything was foreign. To complicate matters further, Wikus was certain a good deal of poleepkwan understanding would simply be beyond his grasp. They lived a symbiotic life with impossibly complex technology, and schooling of any kind had never been his strong suit. Back on Earth, in his element, surrounded by the confidence of his peers and the strength of a far-reaching arms manufacturer, the domination of these creatures felt so natural. But alone in the dark, enveloped by incomprehensible machinery, he could see how wholly ridiculous it had been.

With his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, teetering from one foot to the other nervously, Wikus felt for all the world like a toddler on his first day of preschool. He began to realize how long he'd been rooted in the same spot, not two feet from the cabin door. By the time he made his way down to the cafeteria, dinner would be finished.

"Oh, _come on_, Wikus," he grumbled out loud, throwing his arms to his sides, "this is _stupid_." He paused for a moment, recalling Yeen's directions, then set off down the empty corridor toward whatever fate had planned for him next.

* * *

As he expected, Wikus didn't cross paths with anyone on his way to the mess hall, but the directions were fairly straightforward. The freighter was designed to house families as well as experienced adults, so the important signage was large, bold and easy to understand. As he neared his destination, he didn't need text to tell him he was in the right place.

The corridor he'd taken on Deck 4 was much wider than those on the habitation deck, built to accommodate a large volume of traffic. Wikus could see the tunnel lightening before he gradually picked up the unmistakable din of a sizable gathering; a multitude of voices overlapping, and the clank of dishes. Eventually, there was a break in the right hand corridor wall, an unexpectedly wide entrance allowing light and noise to flood into the cool stillness. Wikus slowed, paused a second, then crept to the edge of the doorway and peered inside.

After navigating the network of corridors, the commissary's size gave the same effect as stepping out of a cupboard and into a stadium. It was massive, an utterly impressive space at least three stories high. The width was difficult to assess given the vast number of occupants, but it was certainly much wider and deeper than it was tall. The brightly lit room was divided into two decks, the upper level starting a few dozen yards away from the entrance. A large, grated staircase arced up on either side, supplemented by smaller sets of stairs throughout the room that angled from center to side. The second deck was supported by a series of black metal arches that gave the space a very modern, industrialized feel by human standards. Food was being obtained along the side walls above and below while the floor spaces were filled with the same kind of table as was in his cabin. These, though, were larger and higher from the floor, with fixed benches surrounding each. It was, to Wikus's amazement, a very pleasant atmosphere and he momentarily forgot to be nervous.

The lone human stood along the border of the entrance and watched the commotion with interest. The place was crammed with poleepkwa, both drones and soldiers, but the group dynamic was a complete 180 from what it had been when these same people arrived on Earth. No longer aimless, everyone seemed to be coexisting in harmony, moving with purpose. It was reminiscent of seeing cells flood through blood vessels, the entire subsection of the Colony flowing around itself like a single organism with thousands of tiny parts. Squabbling and stealing had been replaced with conversation and laughter. Little ones darted around the lankly limbs of the adults, more interested in play than dinner. Here and there, the locomotion of a few adults was still compromised by injury, but otherwise there was little similarity between the group now and what it had been in the District. It was amazing, Wikus thought, what good food and an intact social structure had done for these people.

One crucial element that had been missing from the picture on Earth was the presence of the poleepkwan soldier. Far less numerous than the workers, they were nevertheless quite easy to spot among the throng. While a human had to train ceaselessly to become a proficient warrior, poleepkwan soldiers were not made, but born. They stood a head or more taller than their drones and were substantially more robust and powerful. Adding to their fearsome appearance was a more formidable jaw, thicker neck plates and a fair few more spikes than Wikus had become accustomed to seeing. They didn't share the drone's color diversity, however; soldiers tended to be pale, ranging through whites, grays and foggy blues with starkly contrasting stripes and patterns on their backs and limbs.

Wikus was rather surprised to see this more intelligent fighting class intermingling with the workers. Had they been human, they would almost certainly have segregated themselves into an environment befitting an elite corps. But these creatures were hardwired to think in terms of the hive, where individual progression above the group would be detrimental. In order for the system to work, all parts had to function as one. Without drones, the soldiers would lose their formidable work force and would have nothing to protect. And District 9 had done well to show what happened to drones without their soldiers.

It seemed unlikely to the Earthling that there would be a place in this ancient social hierarchy for a solitary _homo sapien_. Studying the mass of bodies brought another question to mind: how would he ever find Yeen in this place?

Wikus frowned and huddled against the door frame, biting a nail as he tried to decide what course of action to take. His next move was made for him when a huge, heavy hand grasped his shoulder from behind and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Whirling around, he found himself staring into the thorax of a particularly immense soldier. On the better side of six feet tall, Wikus had rarely needed to look up to anyone in his adult life. Now, he had to step a few paces backwards and crane his neck to meet the unmistakable gaze of General Tarzier.

As the commanding officer on the Fiordraa, Tarzier had led the assault in Johannesburg. He'd been the first soldier Wikus had ever seen and was just as intimidating in this serene setting as he had been on Earth. His hefty carapace was the color of clear sky viewed through a smokescreen, and networked with countless gouges and scars. Breaking up his impressive form was a series of amorphous, solid black stripes, zigzagging across his dorsal side from neck to shins. But Tarzier's most notable feature began as a deep, ugly gash, long since healed over, sweeping from the plates on the right side of his neck to cross over his face. It was certainly this wound that had taken his eye. The General's right eye was prosthetic; a clear, glassy orb with a translucent iris that floated inside the sphere in a very unnatural manner. The eye was illuminated from the inside, starting as a white point and blazing outward into a brilliant orange. It was an unsettling contrast to the poleepkwa's natural, steel blue eye.

Wikus was uncertain what a proper, respectful greeting should sound like in this instance and all he could manage was a muted stammer. Tarzier's expression was unfortunately difficult to read; the old war horse always looked angry. But when he spoke, there was genuine benevolence in his deep, gurgling voice.

"Wikus. It's nice to see you on your feet."

"Ah...thank you. Sir."

"Feeling well?"

"Much better, yes."

"You look lost," the General stated in a tone that almost sounded threatening, though Wikus was certain this was a force of habit and not intentional, at present.

"Well..."

"I'd have thought you would be with your caretaker..." Tarzier trailed off, a commotion behind the man catching his attention.

Wikus was suddenly conscious of a repetitive thumping that marked rapidly approaching footfalls, but before he could turn, he was imprisoned by a pair of coal colored arms. His own thin limbs were effectively pinned at his sides as he was drawn into an embrace that lifted him off the deck and squashed him into the torso of his "attacker". The poleepkwa placed his large head on top of the human's, slick tentacles draped onto Wikus's forehead, and began a vigorous greeting vocalization. Wikus could feel the vibration rumble down the back of his head and neck and managed to push a chuckle from his compressed lungs.

"Brutus, you damn fool, you're going to kill him," Tarzier growled, more exasperated than hostile.

"Sir!" Brutus clicked, obediently setting his friend back on his feet.

Wikus was finally able to face his old compatriot; the familiar, bright green eyes and chipper expression a welcome sight. "I missed that," he grinned. "It's great to see you again!"

"You too! We thought you were done for, and then this..." Brutus took the man's arm by the wrist and lifted it up, inspecting the alien body. "Christ, you're scrawny." The drone had developed an affinity for human slang and curse words, and he nearly always used them correctly. Wikus suspected Brutus had a more cunning mind than he led on, but kept it in reserve for things he found particularly worthwhile.

"Heh, yeah, guess so..." he shrugged, lifting his eyes from his lean form to meet Yeen, who had much more politely meandered through the crowd to welcome his roommate.

Yeen's greeting was far gentler but none the less fervent. With a talon-like hand against Wikus's face, he leaned forward to press his forehead against the human's. In terms of poleepkwan gestures, it fit somewhere between a hug and a kiss, most commonly shared between parents and children or especially close friends. While heads touched, each would run his antennae up and down against the other's and brush mandibles together briefly. The fact that Wikus could no longer fully reciprocate didn't seem to matter to either one of them.

"I'm glad," Yeen said softly.

Wikus still felt like he should apologize for something, but unable to articulate his thoughts, he smiled and nodded warmly.

General Tarzier gave a stiff jerk of his head to Brutus, who seemed to pick up on the insinuation immediately. "I'll get you bowl!" he chirped excitedly and pushed his way back through the crowd, creating a cavalcade of annoyed grunts in his wake. Tarzier shook his head in dismay as he watched the drone leave and then turned to Yeen.

"Contact me in a few weeks. Commander Ruwala would like to speak to this one when he's recovered properly." After receiving a respectful confirmation from the green worker, Tarzier straightened himself, gave them a nod and strode into the mess hall.

Wikus hunched his shoulders and leaned towards Yeen anxiously. "Wh...the Commander?" he whispered.

Yeen threw up a hand to quell an unnecessary bought of verbal distress. "You're not in trouble. _I promise_. He just wants to speak with you. Now, let's eat, yes?" He pulled a reluctant Wikus into the hall by the arm, weaving in between the diners.

Wikus quickly relaxed as he was greeted cheerfully by every group they passed. He didn't recognize any of the faces, but he himself had been a very well known figure among the refugees even before his recent transformation. His apprehension began to melt away like butter on a hot plate as it became clear that no one was the least bit troubled by his new, old exterior. In fact, they didn't act as if they noticed a difference at all.

When they reached the appropriate table, Wikus was pleasantly surprised to see a cluster of poleepkwa he did know. He waved a happy hello to Lek, a dark brown drone with vibrant orange markings like paint spatters. He was a close friend to Brutus and had been a diehard ally on Earth. Beside him was his little son Mita and an unrelated child, Spek, who made up Joji's pair of best friends. Lek was bordered on his right by Tookanuk, a shy yellowish worker who'd had a knack for disassembling and retooling human technology.

The reunion of old friends had no sooner completed their salutations before Brutus plunked a gigantic bowl of food on the table before Wikus. He sat beside the startled human and handed over an equally sizable bottle of yellow beverage he'd been carrying under his arm. "Waal!" he announced proudly. "You'll love this, it's _so_ good."

Wikus blinked at the ebony drone before returning his attention to the food, more than a little skeptical. He desperately hoped his first impression wasn't showing on his face.

The bowl was similar to a wok in size and conformation, only deeper. It was heaped with what might have been pasta; long limp cords of an unidentifiable substance, well coated with a translucent brown sauce. Each was almost as thick as a pencil, and with the slick coating they slid over each other like a pot of steaming earthworms. On top was an assortment of nugget sized chunks. Some appeared to be dumplings; round, white and pressed shut along the edges. Others were clearly hunks of grilled meat. The dish was peppered throughout with little bits of diced this-and-that in greens and grays.

The table's center was designed to hold bottles of condiments and spices, and Brutus chose the largest one, popped it open and drizzled something thick and molasses colored over the pile of food. The aroma was nice enough, but it did nothing to improve the disgusting appearance of the dish.

Wikus was suddenly aware that all eyes were upon him, waiting patiently to see if he'd approve or not. He pulled off his green gloves and stuffed them into his trouser pocket, swallowing hard. The kitchen staff would almost certainly know from his medical analysis which foods his body needed and what might poison him, but no one could predict what he'd _enjoy_ eating. They were in for a long trip home and if he couldn't stomach poleepkwan cuisine, it would be a miserable one.

"Um...do I use a fork, or...what?" Wikus asked Yeen, who'd been watching him quietly.

"Fork?" he repeated, punctuated with that head tilt again.

"Yeah. You know...a utensil? For eating?" Wikus poked at the air with an imaginary fork.

"Ah! No. Your hands for this one," Yeen explained, picking up a piece of meat from his own partially consumed dinner as an example.

"Right." Wikus tried not to sigh and chose one of the dumplings to sample first. He picked up the hot morsel carefully so as not to burn his fingers, and held it to his nose. In spite of the appearance, the smell of the food was fairly appetizing. Lovely, even. Tentatively, he nipped a corner off the dumpling, exposing what appeared to be a meat paste inside.

"Mm!" he said, eyes widening, and shoved the entire thing into his mouth in spite of its temperature.

"It's good?" Yeen asked hopefully.

"Myeah!" he exclaimed through a mouthful, "Ith delifous!"

Yeen couldn't make out the words but it was obvious from the human's attitude what he meant. Brutus nodded smugly, and Yeen was able to breath a sigh of relief as his companion moved on to another component of his dish. The drone turned back to his own meal at last, feeling cautiously relieved.

Mealtime passed by saturated with blissful conversation and the occasional playful quip, and Wikus was reminded of the cozy gatherings he'd once shared with his human family. It seemed rather silly, now, that he'd been so apprehensive such a short time ago. With his feverish hunger sated, Wikus decided to raise the question to his mates.

"I don't get it," he prompted, "doesn't it bother you guys that I'm not one of you anymore?"

He was answered with a row of confused faces; the question didn't seem to be landing.

"What do you mean, 'not one of us'?" Brutus puzzled.

"I mean, not poleepkwan. I'm human again," Wikus explained, now himself somewhat confused. That fact didn't need stating, did it?

"What difference does that make?"

"W...well...I'd think you'd be...a little unhappy to see a human again. You know, considering..." He hoped he wouldn't have to elaborate on that part.

"You're still _you_," Yeen added gently.

"Sure. But..."

"Your people put too much importance on appearance," Lek interrupted, as though he was explaining something that should have been blatantly obvious. "Once you become a part of the Colony, _it_ becomes _you_. You cannot be excluded from it, no matter how many times you change."

This planted a feeling of intense comfort in Wikus that he knew would be almost impossible to uproot. These people had provided him with a kinship that every human he'd ever known had failed to uphold. It was a gift he didn't feel he deserved, but he wasn't in any hurry to chase this sentiment away with his lack of confidence.

"Wow, it...sounds so easy when you say it like that," Wikus confessed, hoping the sincerity in his voice would translate. He was answered with a round of unified positivity and a tender caress from Yeen.

Reassured, Wikus returned to his food, stuffing the last bite of a remaining meat chunk into his mouth. He was quite surprised that he'd managed to eat nearly half of the huge portion. Evidently he hadn't realized just how depleted he was. Swallowing with a bit of difficulty, he would have loved to have finished the whole bowl. It was delectable, but there was simply no place left to put it.

"Oouh. That's it," he groaned, pushing the dish back. "Thank you, it was excellent!"

"You're done?" Brutus clicked, predictably eager to help his friend with his leftovers.

"Yeah. You can have it," Wikus grinned, taking one last gulp from the hefty bottle of sweet, cirtusy drink before handing that over as well. He rubbed at his stomach blissfully, trying to recall the last time he'd had too much to eat. For reasons he couldn't quite solidify, he'd been careful to mind his table manners during their dinner but inevitably a decent belch caught him off guard.

"Mnf. Excuse me," said Wikus contritely.

Yeen appeared bamboozled by the alien's apology. "For what?"

"You know, for the..." and it occurred to Wikus that he didn't know the correct word in poleepkwan, "...noise." He struggled to expound, gesturing by sweeping his hand outward from his throat. Head cocks all around.

Brutus thumped the now empty bottle onto the table and feigned an empathetic tone. "Ohhh, don't worry, Earth man, it's okay. You can't expect to be good at everything. But! I will teach you," he piped jovially, taking Wikus by the shoulder, "because you are my _friend_."

Wikus twisted his face in confusion, but the big, black drone straightened himself in his seat and demonstrated his vocal prowess. Opening his puppet-like mouth in a wide gape, he forced a monstrous belch that rattled the condiment bottles and garnered the immediate attention of every poleepkwa within a seven table radius. All heads swiveled in their direction, eyes wide and antennae pricked. There were a few seconds of localized silence before Joji and his friends erupted in a fit of laughter, followed closely by Wikus. The human was sure he noticed a few pairs of eyes roll before they turned back to their respective parties, Yeen among them.

"**That**," Brutus boasted, "is what it _should_ sound like."

"You really have a gift, there," Wikus chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Yes, well, with that, I believe it's time to get back to our room," Yeen sighed, getting to his feet. "Spek, you too, little one."

Joji said a reluctant "good night" to his playmates and Spek set off into the departing crowd to rejoin his own father. With a labored grunt, Wikus swung his legs over the bench as well and pushed himself onto his feet. It was definitely going to feel good to get back into bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

**Old Wounds**

"**Catch me!**"

"It's time to get ready for bed now..."

"One more time! _Please_?"

"Fine. Last time."

Yeen patiently outstretched his arms and waited while his little son hunkered on the edge of the top bunk, calculating an ideal leap. At last he sprung, pitching himself across the cabin and into his father's reliable arms, giggling madly. Yeen clasped the child's legs snugly, hanging him upside down, and carried him to the lavatory.

"Bath time now."

"Agaaaaain!" Joji squealed, flailing his arms in a bout of playful resistance, but to no avail. It seemed poleepkwan children, much like human ones, were intricately perceptive to changes in the moods of their adult family members. The anxiety that had lifted from human and drone this evening had filled the boy with extra enthusiasm, making the task of settling him for sleep more difficult than usual.

Wikus watched father and son debate the nighttime ritual with a great degree of amusement as he lounged in his own bunk. Boots and vest had been removed and set neatly aside. Blissfully he lolled propped up by a cushion, his back against the wall and bare feet hanging over the side of the bed. Wikus had no desire to sleep, but the heavy meal and soft pelts were beginning to win him over and he yawned widely.

Joji obviously had no aspiration for bed either. He emerged from the steam shower moments later and immediately clambered into the bottom bed, announcing that he was "going to sleep with Wikus tonight." Yeen had no sooner begun to reason with the child before he hopped out again, retrieved his own doll from the top bunk, and began flying him around the room like a ship. It took half an hour of discussion, a snack and two stories before Joji would consent to be put to bed. Like a toy with tapped batteries, he promptly fell asleep as soon as the bunk's lights were dimmed.

Yeen closed the sliding wall above and flopped into the bottom bed with the kind of sigh only a parent could know. Beside him, Wikus responded with poorly concealed mirth.

"You find this funny?" Yeen asked in mock irritation.

"Yes. Yes I do."

"Perhaps tomorrow _you'd_ like to give it a try."

"Hey, I didn't say I could do it better, I just said it was funny!" Wikus grinned.

"Ah, maybe so," Yeen relented, and began gathering parts of the blankets around him. He pulled them over his lap, careful to cover the dual row of spikes that ran up his outer thigh. Wikus gladly accepted the invitation and turned to lie down, resting his head on the fur-cushioned leg. A pair of miniature arms fiddled in their recesses above his head while a full sized hand brushed hair from his face with remarkable softness. Both creatures rested quietly for several minutes, enjoying each other's company.

"What do you think of your clothes?" Yeen queried eventually, "Will they work for you?"

"Oh, yeah, they're great! Thanks, Chris-...Yeen. Sorry..."

"You can call me Christopher if you like, it doesn't upset me," Yeen offered tenderly, "I'll send the order down for more sets...you'd prefer different colors, correct?"

"Sure, color's good. The gloves, though, it's a little harder to get menus 'n stuff to respond through the fabric..."

"I thought that might be the case. We can just cut the ends of the fingers off."

"Yeah." The issue brought another question to mind. "Any word from Doc?"

"No, nothing yet. They'll figure it out, I'm certain," Yeen assured him.

Wikus was somewhat less confident, but he had little choice than to trust and wait. He became aware of the poleepkwa staring at his face with a curious air and raised his brow in inquiry.

"I've been wanting to ask, why leave this?" Yeen responded, dragging a finger along Wikus's upper lip, causing a fit of sniffing and twitching.

"It *hshff*...it's called a 'mustache'. It's just a style choice...doesn't really do anything."

"'Style'? You mean you like the way it looks?"

"Right."

"I thought maybe it kept nose mucus out of your mouth..."

Wikus interrupted the quiet with a mild burst of laughter. "Yeah, I guess it does that, too. Hey, I've got one for you...what was in that bottle you gave me?"

"You didn't _drink_ it, did you?"

"Nah."

"Good. It cleans your teeth. Take one mouthful every week, rinse it around your mouth for a minute or two, then spit it all out into the sink. Please don't swallow it..."

"No brush?"

"You have a brush, for your hair..." Yeen explained, perplexed.

"No, I mean, a little one, for my teeth...you don't brush your teeth?"

Yeen looked positively stymied. "I...no...you _do_?"

"Well, yeah; we put some paste on a little mini-brush, on a stick, and, you know," Wikus mimed oral hygiene.

"I see. How does that clean _between_ your teeth?"

"Well, it doesn't...then...we take a waxy string and drag it between each...one."

"And you enjoy this?" Yeen asked incredulously.

"No, actually, it's kind of a pain in the ass. Most people just skip it and...let their teeth go bad. Look, it sounds stupid when you have to explain it like this," Wikus defended.

"Okay, that's fine," Yeen soothed him, chuckling softly.

Wikus wasn't upset over the confusion, but the recount of human behavior did get him thinking on his old home again, on family and friends and the events that separated him from them. The human's face turned suddenly dismal, and Yeen feared he'd accidentally offended him in some way.

"It's okay," he repeated intently.

"No, not that, it's..." Wikus pressed his fingers against his eyes, attempting to collect himself, "I just..."

"You miss your home," Yeen said quietly.

"Mnf."

Yeen caressed the human's face more earnestly, hoping it would offer him some reassurance. "That's to be expected. You've left everything familiar behind, and under terrible circumstances. It's **okay** to be sad."

Wikus rolled onto his side so he could avoid making eye contact with the drone. He knew Yeen was sincere in his consolation, but he just wasn't in the mood to hear the obvious explained to him. Rubbing at his face again, he could feel warm tears flooding his eyes in spite of his willingness to hold them back.

The man's face withdrawn, Yeen began to massage his back and shoulder instead. "It will get easier with time. You'll always miss your planet, and your Sugati, but eventually you'll be able to live with it."

"My what?" Wikus sniffled.

"Your Sugati? Ah, maybe that's not the right word..." Yeen contemplated. He knew a fair amount about human relationships, but as poleepkwa were asexual beings, nothing in his own experience could be directly paralleled to anything he knew about Earthlings.

"Mm...what does it mean?" Wikus asked, temporarily distracted, "I've never heard that word before."

"It's the person you spend the most time with," Yeen said plainly. It was evident from Wikus's expression that he'd have to elaborate. Pausing in thought, he pulled at his tentacles absently, staring into space. "A Sugati...is a person you choose to stay with, it's your dearest friend. Someone you understand very well, that you feel you can't do without. Someone you share the most of your self with. Does that make sense?"

"I think so. When you said, 'your Sugati', you're talking about my wife?" Wikus found he had some difficulty getting the last word out.

"I assume so. We don't partner the way you do, so forgive me if I'm being...presumptuous? I couldn't recall your term."

"No, I think...that's pretty close," Wikus assured him. Now curious, he shifted onto his back again, "So, how do you choose one?"

"Well, it's not as though you look for one, you just sort of fall into a close relationship with someone, usually someone you have a lot in common with."

"Can you only have one?"

"No, but it's rarer to find a multitude of people you can connect with on that level. I dare say Joji may have two," Yeen smiled.

"Yeah, those three are never apart, are they?" Wikus chuckled, "Do you have one?" As soon as he raised the question, he wished he hadn't. Yeen looked away, his warm face saddening.

"Chris, I'm sorry..."

"No, don't be. I did have one, yes. His name was Otowek, but you would have known him as Paul. We met in school, when we weren't much older than Joji is now."

Wikus could see the black and yellow drone in his mind all too clearly. Paul's death would never leave his memory or his conscience. The event had marked a turning point in his life, the fulcrum at which his perception of his fellow man had pivoted into frightening territory. The people in which he'd placed so much confidence had proven him to be a fool with one savage act and it had taken a sizable piece of his own self assurance with it. Wikus had never seen anyone die before, not in person. The fact that he, himself, had instigated the execution still made him physically ill.

Yeen had stopped massaging and his three-fingered hand now sat still against the human's face. Wikus placed his own hand on top of his friend's, trying to redirect some of the comfort he'd just been receiving. The poleepkwa's next remark took him quite by surprise.

"I know you didn't want it to go that far. It wasn't your fault," Yeen said softly, "you couldn't have stopped it."

"I was the one who started it," Wikus insisted, his chest tightening.

"No. If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else. Don't carry this with you," he said firmly, the words sounding more like a command than a request, "I begged him to be compliant. But Oto never had much in the way of patience. Or common sense. Much like your friend, Brutus."

Wikus was somewhat relieved to hear a hint of lightheartedness return in that last sentence. "I have no idea how he made it all the way through," he sighed.

"_That_," Yeen laughed, "_was_ your doing, I have no doubt. And you _should_ carry that with you."

"Yeah, I suppose. I'm glad he's been assigned to the livestock unit. Processing meat may be his one true love," Wikus grinned.

"He certainly seems to be enjoying himself."

"No question. That why he was put there?"

"Well, you don't get to pick, but the Commander does try to set workers to the tasks they're best suited for."

"Huh," Wikus pondered.

"Yes?"

"Well...Took went to Engineering, he's good with machines..."

"That's right."

"...and Lek, he's in Navigation..."

"Yes..."

"...but what about you? You're the smartest drone I've ever met, how is it you don't have an assignment?"

"I do. You."

"Me..._what_?" Wikus sputtered.

"My job is to take care of you. Until you're healthy and integrated enough to be able to care for yourself properly, that is. Afterwards I'll probably be sent to Engineering too."

Wikus wasn't at all sure how he felt about that. "They made you my nanny? How in God's name did you get stuck with that, man?"

"...If 'nanny' means caretaker, then yes. And I would have insisted on it if I hadn't gotten it. Fortunately, I'm the most qualified for the..._what_?"

Wikus was attempting to interrupt but he was having some difficulty spitting out a proper sentence, his face once again locked in a "you've got to be kidding" expression. "It...okay, look...I can admit that I need someone to, I don't know, keep me from dying. But you don't think that's a little below your skills? There's _nothing_ on this whole stinking ship you'd rather be doing?"

"Of course not," Yeen answered matter-of-factly.

"How..."

"Calm yourself, Earth man," Yeen said gently, easing Wikus's upper body off of his own so he could replace his leg with a cushion, "it's late now, and you need to sleep."

It was more than apparent that the discussion was over, and Wikus decided a continued resistance was pointless. He was starting to feel the fatigue deeply now, anyway, so he gladly accepted Pedro and allowed Yeen to pull the covers over him.

"How about...rain? You like that one, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah, please..." Wikus yawned.

The drone opened the wall monitor and pulled it nearer to the head of the bed. He chose a display that mimicked a window pane, streaked and pattered with rain. The visual and audio displays were so convincing it felt to Wikus like he was back home in his own bed, dozing off to South Africa's seasonal storms.

"Sleep well," Yeen said kindly, making certain his human was comfortable.

"I will," Wikus replied, drowsy and appreciative, "you, too..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

**Spit and Polish: Part 1**

Wikus stirred in his bunk after the most restful sleep he'd had in quite some time. He rolled onto his belly and nuzzled the soft pelt lazily, not eager at all to leave the comfort and warmth of his nest. His roommates were already awake and the mildly taxing process of preparing for the day was well under way.

"Pack your satchel, it's almost time to eat," Yeen urged his son. The little drone was dragging his feet again. Joji loved school wholeheartedly, but like most youngsters he was easily distracted and needed to be prodded in the right direction. "Did you finish your assignment?"

Joji turned to the mess he'd left on the table, picking up a small machine and handing it to his father for inspection. Each student had been given a set of parts out of which they were to assemble a working gravity regulation module. The item was expertly constructed, as anyone would have expected from Yeen's son, but the extra pieces were still scattered across the table and onto the floor.

Yeen looked it over carefully. "You did very well! Hm, but look, you're missing a Kuiper pin. See?"

"Oh, yeah..." Joji recalled, rubbing his head.

"Did your set come with all four?"

"Uhhhhm...I _think_ so..."

"Well, let's look for it, then," Yeen sighed, setting the module on the floor with the boy's school bag and kneeling by the table to hunt for the miniscule pin.

Wikus had shoved himself upright and was sitting on the edge of the bunk, disheveled and groggy, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He would have offered to help search if he'd had the slightest idea what a Kuiper pin looked like. Before he could ask, the cabin door slid open and Brutus entered with a dusty, whitish orb under one arm.

"Morning, greens," he said. The pair waved a hello from under the table and Brutus cocked his head in bewilderment before he shrugged and turned to Wikus. "Hey, Monkey. Nice hair," he chuckled facetiously.

"Yeah. Nice...face..." Wikus attempted.

"Whoa. Good one. Listen, I was talking to your keeper there and he mentioned that you were having a hard time leaving your planet behind, and...I thought you should have this." The big, black worker sat on his haunches beside the bed and handed over a grungy human skull.

"Oh...you can't give this away, man! You love this thing..."

"Sure. But it means more to you than it does to me." Brutus offered a rare, tender smile that Wikus knew would not have not been extended to many others, nor would the gift.

He'd had it since long before they'd met, the spoils of some altercation with a gangster or terrorist. Brutus had strung a tattered cable of interwoven scraps through the skull so he could wear it around his thorax, where it served as a blatant warning to anyone who might mistake him for an easy mark. More gruesomely, it was also an emblem of the drone's lust for carnage. Brutus was among the few poleepkwa that had habitually consumed human flesh. Such a grisly artifact should not have instilled the warm fuzzies in Wikus, and in fact, it didn't. It was the skull's contents that the Earthling was eager to revisit.

"Thanks, buddy!" Wikus beamed. He sat cross-legged on the floor and tugged a filthy bundle of burlap out of the bone's cavity. How the thing had passed Hazardous Contaminant Inspection was a mystery in itself. Setting the skull aside, he unfolded the cloth and grinned broadly at the collection of "treasures" Brutus had picked up over the years. It was trash by human standards, but without anything tangible to remember home, Wikus couldn't have been happier to see it. There was a small assortment of bottle caps, a few glass marbles of various colors and patterns, a little rubber ball, a paperclip, a couple of coins and...

"A fork!" Wikus cried gleefully, holding up the worn utensil, "I completely forgot you had this!"

"No, no, that's an eye-gouger," Brutus corrected, twisting his hand in the air.

"I know that's what you used it for, but you're supposed to _eat_ with it. Ah, this is great!" Wikus reveled in the sensation of holding something so familiar, so utterly _human_. "This, though," he said, picking up the skull again, "you won't be offended if I don't keep it, will you?"

"Nah. I guess it is a little creepy for you to have this guy..." Brutus grinned. He took the head and tucked it back under his arm. "Speaking of 'eating'..."

"Found it!" Joji exclaimed, popping up from under the table like a whack-a-mole, a tiny pin pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, good," Yeen sighed, scooping the leftover parts back into their trays, "let's go to breakfast."

* * *

Unlike the preceding day, Wikus was ecstatic to make the journey to the commissary alongside his adoptive family. His sense of trepidation had been temporarily abated and he actually felt comfortable in the hoard of drones as they filed into the food line. Yeen herded the trio of children ahead while Wikus, Brutus, Lek and Tookanuk followed close behind. The human clutched his new utensil securely in his half-gloved hand; it had been run through a sanitizing wash and despite the scuffs and dents, shone like new. It was currently not the focus of his attention, however.

"Why are you _doing_ that?" Brutus demanded.

"I'm _itchy_," Wikus answered, somewhat annoyed that he should have to explain the obvious. With his free hand, he'd been scratching furiously at his scalp for the past several minutes. His skin was grimy and irritated, still showing smears from his incident a week ago. The human was in dire need of a bath.

"Itchy. Why? Ya got bugs?" The ebony drone cocked a wayward glance at his friend.

"Yeah. Big **giant** ones."

Brutus ignored the sarcasm in favor of more unhelpful prattle. "Why don't you bathe?"

"I can't wash with steam like you guys do," Wikus grunted, moving from his head to his back, "it'll kill me."

"That's the problem with your species," Brutus continued in a lecturing tone, "you come apart too easy. Always dying over any little thing."

"I'll bring it up at the next meeting," Wikus sighed.

"Can't they make something for him?" the drone asked, leaning to one side to address Yeen ahead.

"They're working on it, Brutus," Yeen explained as he handed small-portioned bowls to the kids, "but it's tricky. The cleanser has to be something that will clean his skin without...burning it off..."

"Yeah, let's not rush that," Wikus interjected.

"We'll head down after we eat and take a look. I'll get this," Yeen took his and Wikus's bowls from the service counter as they were quite hot, "and you bring our drinks." The green worker nodded at the rack of cooled beverages and Wikus chose two, hefted them into his arms, gave a polite thanks to the drone serving breakfast and hurried after his caretaker. He was somewhat surprised to feel his stomach growl considering the huge meal he'd had last night, but he was nevertheless pleased at the resurgence of his appetite. Whatever they were about to eat smelled delicious.

The group settled together at a nearby table and everyone was fairly silent as they began to eat. The bowl before Wikus was the same size as the last, but this meal was a stew. The matrix had the consistency of Country Gravy and there was no shortage of roasted meat and vegetables within. As Wikus expected, it wasn't too pretty; the stew was as gray as gray could be. But the taste was exquisite. He stabbed the tender morsels with the fork and shoveled them down, enjoying every mouthful. When he'd eaten his fill, he handed the remaining portion to Brutus again, who was more than happy to accommodate.

There was less time for idle chatter after this meal. It was, after all, the start of a new day by the ship's schedule, and everyone had work to do. The children scampered off to class together and the drones all departed for their respective assignments, leaving Yeen and Wikus to themselves.

"Did you enjoy that?" Yeen asked kindly.

"Oh, yeah! It was great, thank you!" Wikus spoke as he licked any remaining food residue from his fork. When he was sure it was clean, he carefully deposited it into the interior pocket of his vest.

"Good. Let's walk down to Manufacturing, shall we?"

Wikus was eager to visit a new part of the Fiordraa, but his guide found the elongated journey to be quite a challenge. It was much like leading a child through a toy store; everything was new for the human in every sense of the word and he was understandably fascinated. Full to the brim with "why" and "what" and "how", Wikus moved at a painstaking pace while Yeen patiently tugged him along.

At last they arrived at the ship's Manufacturing Department, and it turned out to be one of the most remarkable things Wikus had seen yet. It was impossible to gauge the dimensions of the space at a glance, or how many rooms it contained. The entire wing was crammed with machinery of every conceivable shape and function, like a futuristic Industrial Revolution. Sounds of production filled the warm air in a confusing snarl, every clang, bing, slam and whoosh milling together in the din. The drones manning their equipment were almost lost amongst the tangle of technology; only the brightest colored shells were readily visible.

Yeen approached the comparatively small, grease-smudged counter at the head of the department and addressed the worker seated on the other side while Wikus continued to gawk. The drone nodded at Yeen's request and left to retrieve his order. When he returned, his arms were laden with fabrics and a sizable bottle of greenish gel.

"Let's go," Yeen clicked as he took the stack of materials. "Wikus!"

"...wha?"

"Come along. Let's get you a bath. Yes?"

"Oh! Excellent!" Wikus grinned, broken from his reverie.

The pair thanked the attendant and left the tumult behind. The dim corridors now felt even chillier and more silent in comparison. They hadn't far to walk this time, however, and were soon entering a room with a marking Wikus couldn't read.

"What's that say?" he inquired, pointing at the painted words beside the entrance.

"Well...I don't know how to translate, really...it's a place where one comes to recover from illness or injury by soaking and swimming..." Yeen explained, trying to use terms his alien would understand.

"Like...physical therapy?" Wikus offered.

"Yes...I'd say that sounds correct."

"Huh. We have that, too. It's like...it's easier on the body, to be in the water, right?"

"Yes, indeed! But for you, we're going to use it to bathe."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Wikus sighed, scratching at an elbow. He'd been looking forward to this for three years.

The therapy room was not as large as the mess hall, but was nonetheless impressive. It's ceiling was much lower, ribbed with alternating black metal rafters and bars of bluish lights. It was filled with tubs of varying sizes set into the floor with narrow walkways in between, like a honeycomb. The floors were also jet black, and only tubs in use were illuminated from their interiors; the rest were dark and empty. A few drones were already milling about, some soaking their healing limbs or preparing a tub, but most of the receptacles were not taken.

Wikus followed Yeen down the short flight of steps towards the right side of the room. As soon as he placed a foot onto the floor, he squawked in surprise and nearly tumbled forward. It was coated in a very proficient non-slip texture which, when in contact with the treaded rubber of his boot's sole, locked his foot securely in place. He was able to lift his feet off the floor with a little effort, but it felt almost sticky, like walking through tar.

Yeen stifled a chuckle. "You can leave those there," he gestured at a row of cubbies along the wall, "you won't need them anyway. The jacket, too."

"Right," Wikus grunted, stooping over to pull off his shoes and stuffing them into an empty bin as Yeen deposited all but one set of the new clothing into a neighboring cubby. "Smells nice in here..."

"We add different nutrients to the water. Some of them aid in preventing infection, or softening joints; whatever is needed."

Wikus padded after his companion, looking about curiously. Yeen had led him to the back of the room where the smallest tubs were found. They were sized for an individual poleepkwa and were therefore much larger than any bathtub he'd ever used at home. The drone made certain his charge was paying close attention before he filled the tub so that he'd be able to do it on his own in the future.

A quick tap to the marked spot on the floor brought a small monitor up and Yeen set the appropriate parameters from the menu. Once confirmed, the ring of lights around the bottom of the tub flickered on and it began to fill with warm water. The left and right ends of the basin were vented, allowing the water, once filled, to flow continuously from one side to the other. It could move quickly if the bather needed some resistance to stroll against, or in this case, gently, taking any residue or dirt away from the body and filtering it out before reintroducing clean water from the opposite side.

"In you go," Yeen announced, sitting back on the floor and lifting the bottle he'd been carrying to read the instructions printed on it.

Delighted, Wikus pulled off his clothes and set them aside in a heap. The rectangular tub had bench-like protrusions on either of its long sides and Wikus used one as a step, placing first one foot, then the other into the steaming bath. He stood on the bench for a few seconds, acclimating to the heat and savoring the moment. When he'd climbed into the bathtub all the way, the water reached about halfway up his torso. He could feel the subtle flow pushing at his back, eddying around him, already lifting grime from his skin and carrying it away. He groaned so audibly it caused Yeen to raise his antennae in alarm, but Wikus was far too enraptured to offer assurance to his keeper. Instead, he knelt on the bottom and dunked his head under, running his fingers through his greasy hair in elation. When he stood again, Yeen's curious face was poking over the edge, his large, yellow eyes voicing his unspoken inquest.

"Oooohh, my god, that feels **so** _good_!"

"Ah. You're comfortable, then?" Yeen chirped, sounding a bit relieved.

"Are you kidding? This is _fantastic_..." Wikus replied, satisfaction thick in his voice.

"Good! Let's try this out," Yeen said as he lifted the bottle again. It was roughly the size of a gallon jug and had one flat side so it could be set on the floor. The lid appeared to be a kind of nozzle, and when set on the edge of the bathtub, it pointed down over the water. What was now the top of the bottle had a pop-out lever, which Yeen coaxed into place. As the poleepkwa gestured, Wikus cupped his hands under the nozzle and Yeen gave the lever a push.

What fell into the human's hands was rather unexpected; Wikus had assumed from the look of the substance that it would be similar to liquid hand soap. It behaved more like mercury, however, leaving no strings from the nozzle and balling up in his hands. It was cool and slick, the color of green tea and very transparent. Wikus rolled the soap back and forth across his hand, amused at how well he could see his fingers magnified beneath the wobbly ball of goo. When he sniffed it, it smelled faintly of fresh herbs and he hummed happily.

"Now, you add a little water and rub," Yeen continued, demonstrating by rubbing his hands together briskly.

Wikus used his right hand to cup some water and then pressed it into his left. As soon as he did so, the gel seemed to disintegrate completely, replaced by an increasing volume of foam. He rubbed his hands together and the lather grew richer and thicker, and the aroma became more pronounced. The plantish smell, warmth and humidity all combined to give the feeling of being outside after a good rain.

Wikus shut his eyes tightly and rubbed his soapy hands over his face, adoring the sensation. The cleanser tingled lightly and he could easily feel the mucus, sweat and dirt dissolving off his skin. He bathed with meticulous precision, much more thoroughly than he ever would have back home, where a bath had been a daily occurrence. Every last bit had to be attended to, from behind his ears to between each toe to underneath what was left of his chewed-up nails. It felt so wonderful Wikus couldn't believe he had actually considered this activity to be a chore at one time. He knew he'd never take it for granted again.

Meanwhile, Yeen sat back contentedly, watching his friend enjoy himself. He hadn't felt this confident in their prospects since before the transformation. The health and happiness of this alien had been left to _his_ devices and it certainly appeared that he was doing the right thing for Wikus.

The human was reluctant to leave the tub after he'd finished washing, but he couldn't stay all day and his digits had become very pruned. He clambered out and Yeen presented him with another piece of fabric Wikus assumed was a towel. It was thin, smooth and soft, a bit like an animal hide only spongier. As soon as he touched it, the fabric wicked the moisture off of his hands like he hadn't even gotten them wet. Wikus marveled at the latest invention for a moment before he dutifully dried himself and pulled on the set of clothes Yeen had brought with them.

The drone stood, gathering up the human's new belongings, and then turned to admire his handiwork. Wikus smiled back at him, smoothing his shirt over his lean torso. "Well," Yeen said brightly, "good sleep, clean body, clean clothes, full belly...what else is there?"

"I can't imagine," Wikus replied merrily. His digestive tract had other ideas, however, and at that moment his lower intestine churned noisily. The man's pleased face contorted slightly as he rubbed at his abdomen. "Oh. Maybe there _is_ something else..."

Yeen needed no explanation for this one. "Yes. Let's take care of that now, shall we?"

Wikus nodded and followed his guide out. This was the first time he'd had solid food in his system in quite a while. He hadn't yet had the opportunity to properly experience a poleepkwan toilet and he wasn't looking forward to it. It was actually very similar to the sort of facility traditionally used in places like Japan; a basin set flush into the floor. The user was expected to hunker over it, something the poleepkwa's digitigrade legs were well suited to do. It was probably more natural, and certainly more sanitary, but nevertheless much different than anything Wikus had ever had to use. He certainly hoped he'd be a quick study or they'd be back at the bath sooner than expected.

* * *

A full five weeks into the journey, the Fiordraa continued steadily chugging through the vast chasm of space. Life on board the freighter was now indiscernible from the activity on any other poleepkwan ship; at least, for most of its residents. Not so for Wikus and his small cluster of friends. While they made up a miniscule percentage of the colony's populace, their lives were perhaps the most well known, and the most turbulent.

Wikus had been enduring a manic-depressive roller coaster ride since his transformation. Each point at which he'd been introduced to something new, his spirits were lifted, bolstered by his fascination of a thing so unexpected and incredible. But after the newness wore off and his thoughts could return to the traumas of his past, he'd slump into a dismal depression. It was particularly difficult at night, when the commotion of the day was done and there was nothing left to distract his mind from the hurt. And as Wikus suffered, so too did Yeen and the others closest to him. Yeen would have loved to administer some kind of relief, just as he did for a physical ache. It not only pained him to see his friend so morose, it was doubly frustrating to know that this was one problem he had no ability to alleviate. Only time could cure it.

The human's physical being was fairing much better, however. After a month of good rest and plentiful nourishment, his body condition was the same as it had been before he'd entered District 9. While he was still trim, he'd fleshed out enough to hide his ribs and hip ridges, something for which Wikus was extremely grateful. Frequent examinations had shown no hint of regression or organ failure. And the return of his corporeal health may have been a harbinger of things to come. As time passed, his downturns became less severe and less frequent. His guardians were hesitant to declare it official, but it did appear that the worst might be behind him.

Yeen had done everything possible to fit the human into a daily routine so he could take comfort in a structured lifestyle. Today was an exception. After breakfast the worker had left for his solitary appointment with Commander Ruwala; it was his turn to tell his story face to face. With Joji in school and Brutus at work, Wikus was left to himself in his room. His usual distractions were inadequate today and he'd quickly set them aside. Antsy and worried, Wikus had taken to pacing the cabin in an obsessive-compulsive circle. In a game with no purpose, he tapped the walls in the same spots as he passed them...bunk, wall, cabinet, wall, bunk, wall, cabinet, wall...

The human's mind tormented him with all kinds of negative scenarios. Yeen had been away for hours. What would the Commander say as he described his horrible experience? What would the verdict be when it was inevitably _Wikus's_ turn to hold an audience with the leader of this colony? He was surprised at how close he and Yeen had become; the thought of being taken away from the green drone was too painful to contemplate.

As Wikus rounded the corner yet again, striding towards the cabin door before his next left turn, it whooshed open and he nearly crashed into the person he'd been waiting on so impatiently. Both creatures barked in surprise.

"What were you doing?" Yeen queried, still standing in the doorway.

"Nothing. How'd it go? What did he say?" The tension was as clear on the human's face as it was in his voice, and Yeen took him by the shoulder gently in an attempt to reassure his companion. As he raised his right hand, his new accoutrement was immediately noticeable. "What's _that_?" Wikus asked.

Yeen had returned with a remarkable addition to his modest accessories. On his right wrist was a shiny silver band, made of a similar metal to that of Wikus's buckle and zippers. The thing was much more elegant than the ordinary communication link he wore on his opposing wrist. It had a sort of watch face, and inside the sturdy little window was not a timepiece but a pair of lights. The soft, white glow appeared to be emanating from two lemon-yellow crystals fused together with short, twisting tendrils around their outsides. It was a beautiful trinket and Wikus was instantly curious.

Yeen sighed a bit at the barrage of questions, none of which he could properly answer at this point. He opted to address the most recent. "This is called Ulu Mahan. It is very special. But it's not my place to explain it..."

"What does _that_ mean?" Wikus complained. It always frustrated him intensely when Yeen wouldn't give him a straight answer.

"It means you'll find out soon enough. The Commander wishes to speak with you today, pending a positive result from your physical."

"Wh...already?" Wikus faltered.

"Already? It's been over a month, and you're...what did you do to yourself?" Yeen furrowed his plated brow, having just noticed the condition of the man's hair. He pulled a tuft of the tattered strands through his fingers.

Now it was Wikus's turn to explain the unexplainable. He'd already had a conversation with his friends about the properties of human hair and he'd had absolutely no luck getting them to understand how the hair on his head continued to grow while the rest of it didn't. It was all the more exasperating because he didn't know the reason himself. Wikus was getting awfully tired of the "It just does" routine.

Having allowed it to grow unabated for a month, Wikus's hair had become long and unruly. It had begun to tickle his face and he'd grown so aggravated with it, he'd tried to trim the front himself with his razor. Hair styling wasn't exactly his forte and it looked rather pitiful, but it was, at least, out of his eyes.

"I don't like it...that long," Wikus attempted to clarify as he shooed Yeen's hand away from his face, "so I cut it off a little. That's all."

"You didn't do a very good job," Yeen stated simply.

"Yeah, well...I didn't go to school to cut hair, you know."

"You can get an education in cutting hair?" Yeen asked, all the more confused.

"Sure. It's a job for some people. We can't cut our own, it's too hard, so we pay someone to do it. But somehow, I don't think I'm going to find a barber on this tanker..." he sighed.

"Hm..." Yeen considered the problem for a few seconds before he gestured emphatically at the room. "Get your boots on! And your jacket. I think I know who might be able to fix that, but we have to hurry. I don't want you to be late for your checkup."

Wikus shot the drone a curious glance but complied, and then hurried after him into the hall. Yeen was, once again, being stingy with the details.

"Where are we going?" Wikus persisted, still eyeing the glowing band.

"Deck 4, to see Ogo. He has more skill with a blade than anyone else I know. I'm sure he can work something out for you."

"Ogo..." Wikus struggled to remember. The name was familiar, but it wasn't a poleepkwa he knew well. They'd reached the elevators and Yeen boarded the empty crate, turning to wait for Wikus.

"Wait...the _**butcher?**_" Wikus exclaimed, stopping short outside the open lift, his boots squeaking against the deck. "Oh, no no no, no _thank_ you!"

The green worker was slightly taken aback by his human's sudden, adverse reaction. "What's the problem..."

"Whatryou, kidding? You want me to ask a guy who spends all day hacking animals into bite-sized chunks to take a knife to my _head_? I don't think so, man."

"He's not going to _hurt_ you, we're just going to ask him to put your hair back the way it was," Yeen replied calmly.

"Yeah, no...I see what this is," Wikus shook a paranoid finger at Yeen, "we do the same thing on Earth. You take in an animal, treat it like a pet, feed it up and then lop off its head and serve it for dinner. Nothing doing, Chris!"

Yeen's eyes widened and he fiddled his mandibles in disbelief. "That is the most **absurd** thing I've ever heard! It's my _job_ to keep you safe, and even if it wasn't, I'd never let anything like that happen. Don't you trust me?"

Wikus's face softened and he slumped his shoulders, feeling immediately guilty. The idea of heading down to the abattoir for any reason still sat poorly with him, but it was impossible to dismiss the sincerity in his caretaker's large, complex eyes. Begrudgingly, he lumbered into the brightly lit elevator and crossed his arms in

a huff.

Yeen wrapped a long arm around the disgruntled mammal and pulled him close in the same way he consoled Joji when the little drone was upset. "You have to be the most neurotic creature I've ever known," he said pleasantly as he set the elevator's destination. Wikus was less than amused, but the physical contact did well to comfort him and he'd regained his composure by the time they reached the 4th level.

With Yeen leading the way, the pair strode quickly down the quiet corridor, passing the wide entrance to the mess hall. It looked almost foreboding now, dark and deserted. But their target was the much smaller sealed entrance to one of the Food Processing Units, a series of chambers that ran the length of the dining area. Inside, plants and animals raised in the nearby Agriculture Department were turned into the luscious meals Wikus had been so enjoying. This department was a Clearance Level 2, which meant Wikus would not have been permitted without an escort like Yeen. He only carried a Level 1 thus far, the same clearance given to juveniles.

A tap of Yeen's finger on the bio-sensitive pad opened the solid doors and they were greeted with the heavy scent of blood, backed by the much more pleasant aroma of cooking food. Wikus hurried to keep stride with the drone, more out of a fear of being left behind rather than a desire to explore the wing. The place was abuzz with activity, drones everywhere working diligently and machinery cranking away. Unlike in the dining hall, where everyone paused to greet their alien celebrity, the workers here barely seemed to notice his presence. These were poleepkwan drones in their element, their hive-driven minds set to their tasks. Every movement was purposeful and it didn't look like "inefficient" was in their vocabulary.

After they'd walked a short distance, Wikus noticed his footfalls had taken on a different resonance. The floor had changed from the metal deck to a grate, allowing blood (and anything else that fell from a carcass) to collect underneath their feet. Huge slabs of meat hung from cables all around. They passed bins as wide as single-story houses, filled to the brim with gargantuan organs. And perhaps most unsettling to Wikus, the bleating of still living beasts could be heard in nearby rooms.

To the human's relief, Yeen marched on and they left the grated floor behind. They were coming closer to the areas where the meals themselves were prepared when the drone stopped short, causing Wikus to plow into the back of him. Yeen took little notice and turned into a small offshoot, having seen another drone he recognized. The alcove was narrow, with benches and seated poleepkwa on either side. Each was busy slicing meat into smaller pieces for cooking.

Yeen approached a stocky, reddish fellow and the pair exchanged a greeting. After a short dialogue, the red drone hopped off his stool and left in search of his boss. Wikus tried to conceal a nervous sigh as he huddled beside his caretaker. It wasn't an altogether unpleasant environment; the savory smell of ingredients on their way to becoming lunch was thicker here. Even so, Wikus was feeling very small and helpless. He dearly hoped Ogo would be able to understand the difference between a haircut and any of his usual tasks.

The messenger returned a few moments later with a massive soldier close behind. Ogo rivaled General Tarzier in size and, it appeared, temperament. He lacked the General's scar-marked carapace, but his entire front was darkened with a bloody residue. He did not appear happy to have been called away from his duties.

While the red drone returned to his work, Ogo glared down at the pair of unwelcome guests. Not wishing to waste any more time, Yeen fired away. He graciously excused himself for his intrusion and pulled Wikus in front of him, tugging and gesturing at the human's hair in an attempt to demonstrate how it had looked before. Oddly enough, Ogo didn't look at all perplexed by the request. He didn't even ask any questions. He simply continued to scowl and when Yeen had finished, he took the man's jaw in his powerful hand and turned Wikus's head this way and that, possibly a little more roughly than he intended.

Once he'd finished his inspection, Ogo released the harried Earthling and yanked a free stool out from under a nearby counter, plunking it down in the center of the room. "Sit," he ordered, like a human would command a dog.

Wikus clambered up onto the seat and unwittingly gathered himself into a timid pose, limbs huddled together and shoulders hunched. Ogo returned to the work counter, opened a tool drawer and fished out the smallest cutter he had at his disposal. It was designed just like Wikus's razor, but three or four times the size, with a much more serious beam. It was, after all, calibrated to slice through flesh and bone, not just hair.

When the butcher turned back to his subject, he grunted sourly at Wikus's posture. Palming the man's head, he tugged him into an upright position, nearly lifting Wikus off of his seat. "Now be still", Ogo demanded, and the human redirected his concentration on holding the pose.

Choosing a spot on the wall before him to focus upon, Wikus made every effort not to think about what was happening. He would catch bright glimpses of light as the blade passed near his face and hear the "vmm" as it buzzed by his ears. Fortunately, it didn't take nearly as long as a haircut on Earth would have, and a few moments later both poleepkwa were standing before him, eyeing Ogo's handiwork. Yeen was grinning broadly, a stark contrast to the still-surly soldier.

"Perfect!" the green worker clicked, "It looks just like it used to!"

"Very well. Now get out of my kitchen," Ogo groused, returning the tool to its drawer.

"Yessir!" Yeen obliged, picking up Wikus and planting him on the floor before he had the chance to climb down himself. The human had barely gotten his footing before his keeper was shoving him along.

"Th...hey...thank you, sir!" Wikus struggled. Ogo dismissed them with a wave of his hand before he marched back the way he'd came.

Likewise, Wikus and Yeen were quick to head back to the front entrance. Whether the cut did, in fact, look like it was supposed to or not was irrelevant to the human at present. He was feeling along the sides of his head, making certain he still had both ears.

"That wasn't so bad, now, was it?" Yeen prodded.

"_Mmmnnf_," Wikus offered as a reply. In truth, it did feel better to have the hair out of his face and off his neck, but after what Yeen had put him through, he wasn't about to admit it. Besides, they were now on their way to the med bay, not exactly his favorite place on the ship. And afterwards, he'd have to face Ruwala and who-knew-what...it was going to be one of those days.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

**Grenyo's Favorite Patient**

The 1st Quadrant Med Bay was an impressive facility, even by poleepkwan standards. The freighter boasted four well-equipped medical centers, but this was the largest and hosted all of the Colony's non-emergency research projects. Head physician Grenyo ran his hospital with military precision and even though it was crammed with machinery, not a pill or tool was out of place.

Having just come from the slaughterhouse, Wikus should have been quite comfortable in the sanitary lab, laying on a heated exam table. Yet, even with his partner sitting quietly nearby, the human was tense from head to toe. It had little to do with the fact that he was stripped of all clothing; he'd given up on "modesty" years ago. The procedure itself was the problem...a lab, a table, scores of unfamiliar objects, strangers prodding at him, discussing his condition as though he couldn't even hear them...he'd endured it all before in the underground MNU facility. Wikus knew perfectly well that this time, the doctors were here to help, not hurt, but the trauma of his past was deeply set and terribly painful. The first time he'd visited the med bay while conscious for an examination, the event had been so devastating it wrought a full-blown panic attack. Grenyo had been forced to administer the scans while his patient labored under a heavy sedative. The nature of his condition meant Wikus needed to be seen frequently, however, and with each subsequent physical, he became less frantic. Today, the only evidence of the man's post-traumatic stress was an elevated heart rate and a slightly twitching foot.

Wikus stared at the massive bank of equipment above him while Grenyo and his assistant swapped indiscernible medical jargon. The soldier stood by the head of the table, poking at a monitor above. His coloration was a bit different from the standard; instead of a gray or bluish hue, he was more of a whitish-green, with blurry pine-colored markings. He'd always reminded Wikus of something that should be spearmint flavored.

Just as his carapace deviated from the norm, so too did Grenyo's personality. He lacked the hardened coldness of General Tarzier and his peers. Instead, the doctor approached his work with unbridled enthusiasm and an upbeat attitude. It had nothing to do with his bedside manner, the soldier was simply in love with medicine, and it was that passion that put him at the top of his field.

Needless to say, Wikus was the physician's prized project. It was rare that a poleepkwan medical team would get the opportunity to examine a new species, much less one who'd undergone such a remarkable and undocumented phenomenon. Grenyo relished the human's visits even if Wikus was _slightly_ less keen.

Finally satisfied with the examination reports, Grenyo switched off the scanners and addressed his subject. "Well, everything looks very good! There's no sign of instability, all of your systems are functioning normally."

"That's...good, then, isn't it?" Wikus asked, relieved to have reached the end of another checkup.

"Definitely. I'm also pleased to see that your weight is still increasing. The food must agree with you, I take it?"

"Sure, I can manage it."

Yeen huffed noisily through the vents in his throat at this understatement and Wikus turned a dubious glance his way. The drone pretended not to notice and busied himself by straightening the folded clothes he held in his lap.

"Very good, then," Grenyo smiled, "just one last thing before we're finished. The Commander wants you to have a tracking chip." The assistant worker had provided his supervisor with an injection pistol and Grenyo held it before him expectantly, clearly not anticipating any resistance from his patient.

"Waaait, what? What for?" Wikus eyed the small tool warily. Let it never be said that the human was ungrateful for everything poleepkwan technology had done for him. He wouldn't be alive at all without it. But something about a piece of it implanted into his body didn't set well with him, not in the least. It might have been the influence of Earth's pop culture science fiction or just his own innate paranoia, but Wikus was going to need a decent reason for this invasion of his person.

Grenyo didn't seem at all put out by the inquisition. "It is only a precaution. With your...unique situation and...oh, how should I say..._likelihood_ for disaster, the Commander feels it's in your best interest."

"_Disaster_? That's not..." Wikus groused as he turned his head back to Yeen, but his caretaker was nodding solemnly and it was clear he wasn't about to strike up any resistance to this point of view. "I don't know..."

"It won't cause you any discomfort or affect your physiology in any way, I assure you. I'm sure you'll forget you even have it," Grenyo added soothingly.

"Do I have a choice?" Wikus sighed.

"No. Please roll onto your side," Grenyo pressed, gesturing with the injector in hand.

Sighing again more loudly, Wikus obeyed and shifted onto his left side, tipping his chin down to his chest as his doctor instructed. He felt Grenyo dab at his nape with something cold and wet, then a faint poke and pressure at the base of his skull. With a click, the pistol shot the poppy-seed-sized microchip into the human's neck and after a second dab of disinfectant, the procedure was done.

"You may dress now," Grenyo said cheerfully, replacing the injector into its receptacle and plopping down at a nearby work station. As Wikus pulled on his clothes, the green soldier opened a schematic of the med bay on his monitor. There, in the foremost exam suite with a little label beside it, a white dot bobbed around, mimicking the man's movements.

"There you are!" Grenyo clicked, "That's working. Now, here is something you may find more interesting..." He'd closed the tracking program and opened a new display, one that showed a long, twisting genetic code with numerous notes and markers all about. Wikus sat on the edge of the table to put on his boots and get a better look at the monitor. "We've discovered the cause of your transformation!"

"_Really_?" Wikus replied brightly. The doctor did, indeed, have his patient's interest now.

"Oh yes. Right there, that's the bit we've been looking for," Grenyo said as he pointed at a section of the complex strand. It was apparent from the expressions on both of his guests' faces that a more detailed explanation was needed. He had a tendency to forget he was speaking to civilians when he was caught up in his work.

"Let me just...there," he continued as he focused in on the highlighted segment of DNA. "This is a piece of your genetic code that switches on after conception, when the body first starts to become a fetus. Its job is to make sure you develop the correct parts...that you don't grow, say, fins or...a bunch of extra eyes, something like that..."

"Okay," Wikus replied to indicate that he understood thus far.

"And after it's done its job, this piece switches off, and stays off for the rest of your life. Or, at least, it's _supposed_ to."

"I'm guessing it didn't."

"Correct. It flipped back on and said, 'These aren't the right parts!' and set to work putting you back the way you are now," Grenyo waved a hand at the puzzled alien. "It's really quite extraordinary!"

"Wait," Wikus interrupted, "why...now? Why did it wait all this time to turn me back?" Even though he didn't regret his choice to leave Earth, Wikus couldn't dismiss the annoying inkling that crept into his consciousness...how might things have turned out if he'd become human again right away? It was an entirely inconsequential point now, but "what-ifs" rarely take that into account.

"It's a good question, but I'm afraid we may not be able to learn that," Grenyo confessed. "My suspicion is that the introduction of our medical treatment might have triggered it. Of course, it's also possible that you did this yourself, unintentionally..."

"_I _did?"

"Perhaps. Stress has very real effects on the physical body, in both our species. When you felt you were no longer in danger, your brain may have sent cues to your body that it was safe to switch the code back on. Of course, it's entirely possible that it was a completely _random_ event. We're still looking into this; the fact is, there's enough data here to research for years!"

Wikus was convinced the big poleepkwa would have giggled like a schoolgirl if his people had that ability. Beside him, Yeen leaned on the table, silent, likely running the same hypotheticals through his mind as was his partner. Wikus rubbed at his temples as if shooing the thoughts away.

Grenyo seemed ignorant of the pair's internal turmoil and continued picking through his data. "And here is something else you'll want to see," he continued.

"Oh good. There's more," Wikus mumbled.

The doctor had pulled up another display of Wikus's DNA; this view allowed a magnified examination of the genes. In the foreground was a clear, complete set but just behind it there appeared to be a shadow of some kind.

"You see, here are your human genes," Grenyo indicated the bold set, "and behind, attached to them, are your _poleepkwan_ genes."

"I...have...both? At the same time?"

"Isn't that something? The poleepkwan code never dispersed, it's attached itself to your original DNA, like a dormant, ghosted copy. I've never seen anything like it!"

Yeen straightened himself and uttered a surprised gurgle. "That explains why he can still use our technology..."

"Right! A fortunate anomaly indeed, considering that you're coming home with us, yes?"

"I...guess..." Wikus replied, looking rather lost. He had been expecting something like this, but the real life implications it held were still worrying. As it happened, it was Yeen who voiced the question they'd both been pondering all month.

"Does this mean he's going to keep changing back and forth, indefinitely?" the drone asked, deeply concerned. His human friend had been remarkably lucky to have survived the transformation once, let alone twice. How many times could he dodge that bullet?

The tension on both faces was not lost on the doctor and Grenyo hurried to reassure them. "I would say that's very unlikely. His vital systems stabilized quickly after the incident and I haven't seen any indication yet that they should become spasmodic. Of course," he mused, sitting back on his stool and running his long fingers through his tendrils, "if you'd asked me last month if he'd ever spontaneously turn human again, I'd have said no. This is our first encounter with human physiology, and with this phenomenon. Anything is possible."

Wikus turned his gaze from the monitor to his hands clasped in his lap. He knew it was foolish to expect an "everything's fine now" diagnosis, but he desperately wanted to put this experience behind him. He remembered all too clearly the agony he'd endured as his human body fell apart, and then, to go through it again in one concentrated burst as he lost his poleepkwan form...the last thing he wanted to hear was that it might be possible to face that again.

Grenyo frowned at the dejected creature slumped on his exam table. It saddened him to think that he might not be able to provide the proper aid to one who had so valiantly served his kind. He flipped off the monitor and stood, placing a steady hand on Wikus's shoulder. "I don't want you to worry about it. We'll keep checking you over regularly. And even if something does change, you won't have to suffer through it like you did before. You'll have a hospital nearby to take care of you."

"Yeah," Wikus conceded, "thanks, Doc."

"It's our pleasure. Keep getting plenty of rest and eat well, let someone know right away if you feel any change in your health...is that the _time_?" Grenyo exclaimed, glancing at the digital readout at the rear of the room. "I've kept you too long! The Commander will be expecting you."

Wikus hopped off the table but he wasn't about to leave until he'd received his usual compensation. "Aren't we forgetting something, Doc?" he prompted, pointing at a jar of colorful spheres on a nearby shelf.

"Oh! Of course, yes," Grenyo smiled, offering the candy jar to his patient. They were normally kept as a reward for youngsters just as on Earth, but Wikus was a special exception. Poleepkwan candy was not quite as sweet as the human-made stuff, but it came in an array of interesting flavors.

Wikus chose a green one this time, waved a "thank you" to his physician, and hurried after Yeen. As he pulled his vest on in the chilly corridor, the simple treat seemed to offer him a small sense of encouragement. Even during the difficult phases of life, a person could find some element of happiness if he kept the right company.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **

**Commander Ruwala and the Ulu Mahan**

Wikus nearly had to jog to keep pace with his partner as Yeen led him to a part of the Fiordraa he'd never visited before. Commander Ruwala's high-security quarters were located near the center of the huge, circular vessel. Wikus was surprised to see no variation in conformation; the corridors and markings looked just as utilitarian as any other part of the ship. It certainly wasn't the kind of accommodation a ruler on Earth would inhabit.

When the pair reached the appropriate hall, the only difference in appearance was the size of it. The corridor was roughly twice as tall as most, obviously necessary to accommodate the larger hatch to Ruwala's quarters. Beside the sealed door, the security warning was the highest that could be found on the ship: Level Five. No one would be permitted to enter without a top-ranking escort. The poleepkwa in question rounded the opposing corner a few seconds later. General Tarzier greeted the pair with a nod of his head, his illuminated eye seeming especially intense in the low light.

Yeen turned to his charge and took a few seconds to straighten his freshly-trimmed hair. Wikus's nerves were frayed as it was and his friend's mother hen routine wasn't helping. His anxiety was easy to interpret and Yeen quickly offered some support.

"Just relax, it'll be fine. No one will ask anything of you that you can't do."

"Sure. I know. Wait...what do I call him?"

"Just 'Commander' is acceptable. Go on...I'll be waiting for you."

"You're not coming?" Wikus asked woefully as the worker nudged him towards the waiting soldier.

"You won't need me. You're an adult, remember?" Yeen grinned.

Wikus thumbed his nose at the smiling drone, hoping he'd get the gist of the signal, and took his place beside the ever-surly Tarzier. The comparatively tiny Earthling offered a nervous chortle to his new guide, but Tarzier responded only with narrowed eyes and a waver of his antennae. Slightly sobered, Wikus followed the General through the oversized entrance.

The unadorned corridor did not prepare visitors for what lay inside. The Office of the Commander was an absolute riot of machinery, with mechanical oddities of every description stacked along the full length of each wall. There were a few items that Wikus could identify; monitors and holographic displays here and there. But most of it was foreign and wondrous. The room almost had a whimsical feel as pieces zipped by overhead and curious light patterns were cast over the machines and onto the floor.

It was a tall room, the ceiling reached well above the top of the door frame, but the width was difficult to assess given its overflowing paraphernalia. There was a path straight down its center, just wide enough for two poleepkwa to walk side by side without bumping into each other. With the arch supports overhead, it felt to Wikus more like a cathedral than an office.

The awestruck human lagged behind, craning his neck as he took in the overflow of visual stimuli. Tarzier stopped halfway down the isle and grunted at Wikus, who took the cue immediately and hurried to catch up. At the rear of the room, he was treated to another spectacular innovation and he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it right away.

The back wall housed a massive monitor, just as large as the entrance door. In the same fashion as the little bunk screen back in his cabin, this one was simulating an outdoor scene and providing most of the light for the room. Wikus could only assume he was looking upon a simulation of the homeworld. An unspoiled green prairie cascaded down to a sparkling aqua lake, dotted with dozens of little, grass covered islands. Instead of trees and brush, strange, fungus-like flora sprouted up from the landscape, feathering out into bizarre shapes. Artful rock formations could be seen on the far shore while a few fluffy clouds scooted by overhead, disrupting the sunlight glistening on the water. It was as tranquil a wilderness as any Wikus had seen on Earth and he dearly hoped they would be able to settle in such a place when their journey was over.

In front of the false window, the floor took three steps up to a platform that was fairly clear of the clutter. Upon it was a pair of "L" shaped work stations, each with a high-backed, swiveling chair fixed to the floor. Both desks contained a large monitor and a smattering of work related items, obviously left over from the morning's tasks. The only other object on the raised area was a sizable, pellet shaped cushion in the center that Wikus presumed must be for him.

The seat to their left was empty, but there was an occupant at the right-hand station, his seat turned away to face the scenery. Tarzier strode over to the chair and leaned low, speaking softly to the unseen poleepkwa. Wikus, unsure what was expected of him, stood quietly beside the cushion, waiting. Evidently the fellow had been dozing; he awoke with a snort at Tarzier's greeting.

"Sir. Wikus van de Merwe is here."

"Oh, yes!" came a deep, rusty voice, "very good."

The chair turned with an awkward shuffling of feet and Wikus was greeted by the oldest poleepkwa he'd ever seen. He was a soldier, or had been at one time. His carapace was faded and worn, covered in countless scars from a lifetime of combat. Even some of his spikes were chipped down and both of his long antennae were broken off near their ends. The warrior's eyes, however, seemed to have lost none of their vibrancy; it was clear that the mind behind the ice-blue orbs was still strong and lucid. He sat hunched in his chair, a thick, black cloak draped around his shoulders and thorax for warmth, and smiled cheerfully at his alien guest.

"General Kwaziak," Tarzier announced by means of introduction, taking up a guard stance beside the chair.

"Sir," Wikus replied, placing his open palm against his chest and bowing his head in the gesture of respect Yeen had taught him.

Kwaziak reciprocated the greeting. "Thank you for coming, young one! We've been told so much about you and your people. I'm pleased that we can speak to you in person at last. Please, sit."

Wikus found it peculiar that the General had learned of mankind and still wished to hold an audience with him. For that matter, the soldier's attitude altogether was quite unusual. He spoke in such a hospitable manner that Wikus almost felt like a relation. He couldn't decide if it was a result of old age or a quirk particular to this poleepkwa, but it did put his mind at ease a bit. He hopped up onto the cushion which, although comfortable enough, was clearly designed for a much larger creature; once seated, Wikus's feet dangled a few inches from the floor.

"Thank you very much for seeing me, I understand what an honor this is," Wikus began modestly.

"Oh, not at all!" Kwaziak chuckled with a wave of his hand, "we are _all_ family here."

Something about the statement struck a cord in Wikus and he came to a sudden realization. "Forgive me sir, but, you two are related, is that right?" he inquired timidly, pointing between Kwaziak and Tarzier. He could see that the patterns on both soldier's forearms and legs matched.

"Why, yes! Tarzier is my grandson," Kwaziak answered happily. The younger warrior appeared far less amused, but Wikus would have expected nothing less. "Shall I tell you a story about his childhood? Oh, he was such a little _monster_..."

Tarzier's widened eyes quickly narrowed as he stared an unspoken warning at the vulnerable human. Wikus knew he would certainly be in for a pounding later, but he couldn't resist the temptation. "Yes, please!" he grinned.

"Well, from the moment he hatched..." Kwaziak began, and was swiftly interrupted by a noisy cough from his grandson. Fortunately for Tarzier's dignity, there was just cause for the interlude. Both poleepkwa were now respectfully somber, their attention focused on the opposite end of the platform. Wikus shifted on his cushion so that he could see as well, and he was immediately enraptured.

Commander Ruwala approached from a dim entryway formed in the left bank of machinery. This poleepkwa may have been a genderless hermaphrodite just like her subjects, but as soon as Wikus laid eyes upon her, he knew he'd never be able to think of Ruwala as anything but female. She was extraordinary, both in appearance and grace, standing a good foot taller than even the largest of her warriors. Yet unlike the soldiers, she was slender in stature, elegant, even beautiful. Her plates were more delicately shaped, flowing together cleanly, and she lacked much of the spikiness of her underlings. But it was her coloration that struck Wikus the most. Her membranes were a soft, pure black, complimented by a brilliantly iridescent shell. Just like some of the fancier beetle species back on Earth, Ruwala's carapace was a stunning metallic emerald that sparkled like a fusion of jewels in the simulated sunlight. As she moved, ripples of violet, gold and blue flashed over the deep green, just barely noticeable before they vanished. Upon her shining head sprouted four long antennae instead of the usual two, waving as if blown by a gentle breeze.

She bore no accessories or coverings, not even a com link, but Wikus was acutely aware that she didn't need them. He sat, motionless and awestruck in a daze that was only partially due to her alluring facade. He could _feel_ her influence over him, right down to his core. Momentarily, he was aware of a tingling in his forehead and Wikus suddenly realized it marked the spots where his own antennae had once been rooted. This ruler's command over her people was not merely spoken, it was chemical. Even in his human body, he felt drawn to her. Ruwala's gaze filled him with a sense of safety and love he'd only ever felt with his own mother, and a fierce allegiance that rivaled the loyalty he'd had for his country. Wikus would have pitched himself out of the nearest airlock without hesitation if she'd wished it.

Luckily, the Commander's intentions were far more innocuous. She sat in her chair without speaking a word, her face warm and inviting, and looked her guest over from head to toe. Under normal circumstances, Wikus would have been agitated to be the subject of an alien's scrutiny, but today he felt almost proud to know she had such an interest in him. Now that he had the chance to look into her eyes, he couldn't stop marveling at them. They didn't appear to have any assigned coloration; instead, their luminous irises reflected a different hue with each angle. She'd glance down, and they were magenta; to the left, indigo; forward, and they were a beautiful lime green. Wikus found himself wishing she'd never take her gaze from him.

When Ruwala was satisfied with her assessment, she sat back in her chair and Wikus could see that she had been carrying something. It was a small case, no bigger in diameter than his wrist, and it looked like it was made from a chunk of petrified wood. She set it on the desk with care before folding her gentle hands before her.

"I'm very glad you've come," Ruwala began kindly, "we've been looking forward to speaking with you."

General Kwaziak nodded jovially and Wikus could feel his face flush. "It's my pleasure...honor, really, Commander...that you'd want to see someone like me."

"Why not?" she smiled, "You are a remarkable person. And Yeen speaks so highly of you."

"Oh. Well...you know, Yeen...we've been through a lot together, I suppose..."

"You're very fond of him as well," Ruwala stated rather than asked. She could obviously sense the human's latent emotions.

"Yes, sir," Wikus answered shyly.

"You're doing well in his care? Feeling well?"

"Oh, absolutely! I mean, there's some rough spots, but he's taken _really_ good care of me. Thank you...for taking me in like this."

"For the service you've given this Colony, we could provide nothing less."

Wikus glanced down at his fidgeting hands again, feeling uneasy. Would she feel the same way after she knew...

Ruwala pressed on, her voice taking a more consoling tone. "I'm certain you know what we must ask of you. Your story is the last remaining piece of our experience with your planet, and your people. I understand that it's difficult to revisit, but we would be privileged to hear it."

"Yes, of course, Commander," Wikus acquiesced weakly.

"Please take your time."

Wikus rubbed his fingers together compulsively while he gathered his thoughts. Then, with a deep, cleansing breath, he began to recount his tale. He described his partnership with his wife and the role of her father, his employment with MNU, and all the counterfactual information they'd taught him and the public about the poleepkwa. He meticulously detailed his assignment in District 9 and MNU's hidden scheme. And even though it tore him apart to explain the killing policies he, himself, had executed, Wikus was careful not to exclude any information. He could only imagine what they must think of him as they listened to his chronicle. He was exceptionally fortunate to have been so readily welcomed and indulged by these people, and he was sure this single debriefing would tear it all down again. Still, he slogged through it, an ache working its way through his body as he disclosed his imprisonment in the lab and the conflict that ensued. Wikus continued until he reached the point at which Yeen had departed and he'd blacked out from the strain of the transformation. The following days had been a haze, and other players would certainly have filled in those events anyway.

Now drained of secrets and optimism, Wikus sat quietly on his cushion, his shoulders slumped and eyes downturned, waiting for their verdict. No one spoke, but Ruwala shared a wizened glance with Kwaziak before she sat back, pressing her folded hands against her tendrils. She turned her gaze outward at nothing in particular, rolling her guest's story over in her mind. It felt like an interminable span of uncertainty to Wikus until he could no longer stand the wait.

"Please, Commander...I just..."

Without a word, Ruwala held up a shimmering hand in request for his silence and Wikus quickly complied. When she did reply, it was definitely not the answer that the dispirited human had expected.

"I am truly sorry," she responded sincerely, "that you had to endure such pain. It saddens me greatly to know that your torment came not only at the hands of your own race, but that our Colony's arrival was the cause."

Wikus was dumbfounded, and it took him several seconds to form a comprehensible sentence. "I...but, Commander, I don't understand...you're not..._angry_ with me?"

Ruwala looked into his distraught eyes as she considered this and opted to answer him with a question of her own. "Wikus, are you familiar with the saying, 'Ku eskgek, nau nevvik'?"

"Well...I think I've heard it used before..."

"Do you know what it means?"

"No, sir."

"It comes from a very old and archaic dialect. Roughly translated, it means 'From pain comes opportunity'. You see, our culture does not _discourage_ failure. In fact, we treat it as a gift."

Wikus's face contorted in bewilderment and he wondered if he'd misunderstood the words. Ruwala hastened to enlighten him.

"Let me explain. Mistakes are a healthy part of the development of the mind, in all intelligent creatures. When you do something right, you are rewarded with success, which we all strive to achieve. But it is only in failure that we have the opportunity to see how our shortcomings affect those around us. This teaches us how to empathize, to heal, and to take responsibility for our actions. And most importantly, it affords us the chance to make amends for our mistakes, to set an example for those around us and our children. "That is a gift that cannot be obtained until we first fall. That is what makes us stronger, wiser, and kinder.

"I will not say that you haven't failed; we both know that you have made some _grievous_ errors. But you've made up for your misdeeds _very_ well, young one. Sacrificing your life to save another is the greatest lesson a person can learn. There may be innocent dead by your hand, but there is not a single refugee on this vessel that doesn't owe his life to you."

Wikus considered this apprehensively before he responded. "I'd...still feel better," he said softly, "if I received some kind of...I don't know, _discipline_...instead of praise..."

Ruwala and Kwaziak both shared a chuckle, though the expression on Tarzier's stoic face suggested that he thought this might be a fair idea. "I do believe you've paid your penance," Ruwala clicked merrily, "Yeen did not exaggerate your predisposition to fret. Dear one, consider it this way...if a parent has four children and loses one, he must mourn. However, if he spends the rest of his days in sorrow for the one which died, he can not enjoy and love the three that live. In that case, he may as well have lost all four. Do you understand?"

Wikus nodded slowly, deeply humbled by Ruwala's compassion. He felt completely drained, as if he'd been without sleep for days, but the Commander's gentle eyes seemed to will the confidence back into him. If she wished it to be so, then it certainly must be.

"Now," she continued cheerfully, "I have something to give you." Ruwala stood, taking the small, gray case from the desk again and sweeping a hand at her soldiers. "Shall we?"

"We shall! Yes, indeed," General Kwaziak gurgled as he struggled out of his chair. Tarzier helped his grandfather to his rickety feet and the pair made their way to the opening through which Ruwala had entered. Wikus stood as well, feeling a bit unsteady on his own legs. The Commander smiled graciously down at him, wrapping her long-fingered hand around his shoulder and escorting him after the soldiers.

There was another room just on the other side of the wall of technology, well hidden from the main hall. It was much smaller and more intimately lit; everything was cast in a subtle, bluish hue with shifting strands floating across the floor as if light were filtering through water somewhere above their heads. The space was free of furnishings save one curiosity in the center. It reminded Wikus of a bird bath made from the trunk of a tree. The same kind of gray, bark-like material that made up the mysterious case was sprouting from the polished metal deck up to a height of roughly four feet. At that point it branched out and circled around itself, forming a basin, in which there were six or seven inches of impossibly clear, still water. Wikus wouldn't have guessed there was anything at all inside if the light hadn't been dancing on its surface.

He very much wanted to ask a dozen questions, but the poleepkwa seemed to have a regimented agenda and Wikus opted to stay silent until he was addressed. Each took a spot around the pedestal, Kwaziak keeping close to Ruwala and his grandson just behind his shoulder to provide support. The Commander offered no explanations; instead, she opened the case and set it on the edge of the basin. It contained only two objects: a small, clear rounded bottle similar to those that held ink back on Earth, and a beautiful, glistening gold cord. Ruwala withdrew the chain and handed it to General Kwaziak, who held it in both hands reverently. Wikus was enthralled with its design; it seemed to have neither links nor anything resembling a clasp. Instead, it was a continuous cable of metal that glimmered in the shifting light like a chain of golden fireflies.

The cord in safe hands, Ruwala removed the little bottle an undid its stopper. She tipped it over the center of the bowl and a tiny amount of translucent white liquid slid out, dropping into the water like a stone. It plummeted straight to the bottom and, just like Wikus's soap, balled up neatly with itself. The Commander then turned to Wikus and he could see that the lid had a small, triangular blade on its underside, with a channel and a circular hole cut into it just like the nib of a fountain pen.

"Your hand, please," she instructed gently. It was obvious what she intended to do with it and Wikus wasn't entirely thrilled at the prospect, but her majestic voice was all the impetus he needed and he offered his left hand to her freely. Ruwala took it in hers and with a quick but tender motion, she pierced the fleshiest part of his palm with the blade. The tool was so sharp and the act so swift, the pain barely registered. Ruwala released Wikus's hand and held the tip, now a deep crimson, over the center of the bowl again and gave it a tap. As they watched, a couple of drops departed from the stopper and sunk through the water, just as the bottle's contents had done. Wikus had reasonably expected the blood to fan out as it would have in any other pool of liquid, but he was amazed to see it slide to the bottom as though it hadn't hit the water at all.

The drops pierced the ball of gel, settling in its the center, and for a moment there was no reaction. Gradually, the surface of the water began to release faint wisps of steam, soon accompanied by ripples emanating from the center. The ball itself began to undulate and a point of weak light made itself visible at its core. As the motion increased, the substance shifted from a milky white to a radiant violet and the glowing dot escalated to a white-hot miniature star. The turbulence increased as the ball began to shoot off little tendrils that writhed and retracted erratically.

Captivated, Wikus scarcely blinked as he stared into the basin, absentmindedly licking at the trivial wound on his palm. After a few minutes, the tumult began to subside and Kwaziak stepped forward with his chain. He dipped the glittering necklace into the water and held it there with surprising stability. Only after the motion had completely ceased did he lift it out again and hand it to Commander Ruwala.

What now hung freely from the gold cable was a stunning crystalline jewel, no larger than a nickel, in the shape of a ball of fire frozen in time. It was a clear, soft violet at its tips, one of which was looped over itself forming a ring that held it on its chain. The white center continued to glow serenely, unflickering, casting alluring sparkles along the length of the cord. Wikus gazed upon it as if he dare not touch it, even though he recognized it as his own.

Ruwala held it up between them as she spoke. "This is called Ulu Mahan, or Flame of the Divine. It is the most sacred and significant gift our people have to give. A person earns this only after he has performed a truly noble service to our kind, such as you have, Wikus."

The stunned human remained speechless and Ruwala made certain she had his eye contact before she continued. "It is very _rare_," she said with conviction, "for a drone to earn this reward. Rarer still for one of a different species to receive it. In fact, you are only one of six in our entire recorded history, and it is my honor to be the Commander to present it."

Ruwala looped the cord lovingly around Wikus's neck and the illuminated crystal rested against his chest, just below his sternum. It was heavier than it looked and felt warm against his body in a very unique way, as though it were emanating emotional warmth instead of physical heat.

"The light remains for the duration of your life," Ruwala explained, "and its glow is meant to remind you of your good deeds in the hope that you will continue along the same path. Keep it with you always and it will afford you its protection. You see, it is a grave offense to cause harm to anyone bearing the Ulu Mahan. Those guilty of such pay the penalty of death." Tarzier nodded at this statement indicating that he had most likely administered such executions in his military career.

Wikus realized that he did not know the words that could properly express the gravity of what he felt. "No one's...**ever** given me _anything_ like this...thank you..." he struggled, clasping the jewel like a small child holding his mother's hand.

"The gratitude is ours," Ruwala smiled, and she stooped down to place her bejeweled forehead against that of her Colony's adopted alien. Wikus reached up and wrapped his arms around her neck, returning the embrace in a more human fashion.

"Now then," the Commander said brightly as she straightened her posture, "let's head to lunch."

"Absolutely! Just in time, too," General Kwaziak chirped in his amusingly cheery way, "Oh, I do hope there's Mut-chek, don't you?"

Tarzier nodded but his exasperation was visible under the surface as he provided a steady arm for his eccentric grandfather. Ruwala gave Wikus a knowledgeable grin as she took him by the shoulder again and the group made their way further along the corridor that had led them to the ceremony room.

A few paces onward the walkway split in two, and they shifted to the left branch. It opened into another beautiful room, much different from the previous spaces. This one was brightly lit, as though the early afternoon sun was blazing through from the outside. It was square, the far wall housing three more of the "window" monitors. It appeared to be displaying another swatch of the same environment, and with the tops of the screens formed into simple arches, any visitor might be fooled into believing he was stepping out onto a veranda, overlooking a real landscape. There was another such screen on the ceiling, allowing extra "sunlight" to illuminate the room. Wikus blinked in the new setting, allowing his eyes to adjust to the unexpected change.

On the left there was a long table with the familiar fixed benches and it was, thus far, clear of trimmings. The right side of the room contained more artifacts, though these looked like collected items as opposed to functional ones. Some were obviously very old and protected by cases, and others were open for guests to touch. Such a guest had been poking at one before the group entered, and Wikus hurried over to him, happier than he'd felt in ages.

Yeen nuzzled his human's forehead and Wikus excitedly shared his experience with him. The pair hadn't conversed for long before they were joined by the remainder of the diners, an impressive group of eight soldiers; the Fiordraa's oldest and highest ranking officers. Close on their heels came a set of workers, one of whom shared a short conversation with the Commander before he pointed instructions at his associates. The table was then quickly set with heaps of delectable smelling entrees and drinks. Ruwala tenderly thanked her workers as they departed and invited her guests to sit.

Wikus wasn't familiar with any of the new soldiers, but the experience he and Yeen had shared was understandably famous among them all. Feeling uncomfortably small amongst so many physically large and high-ranking poleepkwa, the human did his best to answer their questions in a respectful and coherent manner. Thankfully, the conversation inevitably turned to matters of interstellar politics and current Colony affairs, and Wikus was able to focus his attention on his lunch.

As per the usual, its appearance was ghastly but the flavors were ode-worthy. Wikus was astounded to see very little repetition on the table. Even after a month of eating their food, most of the banquet was completely new to him. Yeen had explained that their complex bodies required a wide assortment of nutrients, but Wikus still couldn't believe such an elaborate and delicious menu had come from the same creatures that once tried to eat the tires off of his truck.

Now that his nerves were settled, Wikus could feel the appetite that had been lying in wait beneath his anxiety. He opted to try a little of everything, but there were naturally a few items he preferred over the others and they definitely deserved a second helping or so. Yeen was also enjoying the satiation their meal had brought as he watched his friend empty a third bowl of creamy, blood-red soup.

"You liked that one best?" the drone clicked affectionately.

"Mnf-yeah!" Wikus replied, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "this...and those things over there." He pointed at a platter that still contained a handful of grilled alien-meat-kabobs.

"Feel free to have another, then..."

"_Mmn_. No thanks, I'm stuffed." Wikus set his dishes aside neatly and resumed admiring his new gift, rotating the glowing crystal in his fingers. He felt Yeen stroke a hand gently down his back and as he leaned into it slightly, he caught a glimpse of the drone's right arm, and _its_ adornment. "So," Wikus mused aloud, "there's _two_ lights in yours...one is for Joji, right?"

"That's right," Yeen answered proudly.

"Aaaand...General Tarzier...he keeps his in his _eye_..."

"Also correct."

"But...what about General Kwaziak?" Wikus turned a subtle glance to the far end of the table where the old warrior seemed even more boisterous now that he'd eaten. Even with the heavy cloak removed, he hadn't been able to locate such a light on Kwaziak's body, whereas every other soldier in the dining room seemed to have one. Wikus found it an unlikely prospect that such an experienced veteran hadn't earned the Ulu Mahan.

Yeen finished the last bit of his meal and slid his empty dishes aside as well, then leaned close to his partner. "Well, this is what _I'd_ heard," he said softly, "General Kwaziak earned his crystal at a very young age when he saved his entire platoon during the conflict on Ku-Siliev. They gave it to him on a chain just like yours. But then, a few decades later, he was stationed on a ship called the Yu and it was attacked by pirates. In the initial assault, there was an explosion and a big piece of metal pierced his throat and lodged in his chest, very close to his heart." Yeen pointed at the spot on his own throat where his vents converged. "He refused to let anyone touch him until the invaders were dealt with, and after it was over and he was sure his vessel was safe, he still wouldn't let the medics treat him. Said he was fine the way he was. The only way the doctors could get him into surgery was to agree to replace the shrapnel with his crystal. He still carries it in his chest today, next to his heart."

"Wow," Wikus whispered. The family ties between Tarzier and Kwaziak were suddenly starting to snap into focus.

Just as quickly as it had begun, the dinner party dispersed, each of the officers returning to their daily routines. With no real schedule, Yeen and Wikus were the last in line to thank their host for her hospitality. Ruwala seemed almost remorseful to let them leave; her duties as the Commander of an exceptionally large Colony meant that they wouldn't see much of each other during the journey home. As she escorted the duo out of the dining room, she offered the human a few words of encouragement that she hoped would keep his spirits bolstered.

"You're stronger than you think, Wikus. You've already proven that to us, you only need to accept it yourself. Yeen will guide you in the right direction; stay with him and I have no doubt that your future will be an _excellent_ one."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Keehar**

A great many things can change in one year, even under commonplace circumstances. If we're fortunate, our lives move forward. Occasionally, it's the other way around. It had only taken a matter of hours to undo everything that Wikus van de Merwe had worked so hard to achieve in his life back on Earth, but building that life back up had been a much slower process.

As the Colony closed in on the one-year anniversary of its departure from Earth, its only human member would have been almost unrecognizable were he not a different species. With Yeen as his mentor, Wikus had fallen into step with life on the Fiordraa quite successfully. The broken, timid creature that had been salvaged from the conflict in Johannesburg was little more than a memory now, replaced with a jovial, enthusiastic being much more reminiscent of his pre-transformation self.

Even though their meeting before the incident in D9 had been brief, Yeen could see so much of the man's former personality reborn in Wikus now, and he was greatly surprised to find that it didn't displease him. It was, after all, not a lack of integrity that had made Wikus an enemy, but a vacuum of understanding. With his moral compass properly placed, Wikus's boyish fervor had done nothing but bring them closer. From the instant he'd set eyes upon the human in District 9, Yeen instinctively knew _this_ one in particular would be a perpetual thorn in his side. What he could never have predicted was how much he'd come to care for him. They were now, in every sense, a family. A little odd to behold, perhaps, but a family nonetheless.

While new experiences popped up from time to time, Wikus was enjoying the comfort of a daily routine alongside his poleepkwan brothers. And, like the rest of the refugees, his attitude was not the only marker of repair; the human's physical body had recovered nicely as well. As it happened, his new diet did not harbor the unhealthy chemicals and saturated fats of his former one. Whether or not his hidden DNA came into play in this respect was uncertain, but he could eat as much and as often as he pleased without suffering the same ill effects he would have on Earth. As a result, Wikus had replaced his gaunt physique with a well-proportioned musculature, slightly softened at the edges. The only indication of an overabundance of food was the modest outward curve that began just below his pectorals and met with the belted waistband of his trousers.

Four years ago, those few extra inches around his waist would have been unacceptable. Wikus had always spent a fair amount of effort maintaining himself within the unspoken parameters of his modern society. After all, Tania's partnership had not come easily. Her parents never thought much of him. His family wasn't rich and he wasn't exceptionally skilled at anything that might excuse a shabby facade. Wikus considered himself outrageously fortunate to have won her heart and he wouldn't have voluntarily allowed anything to jeopardize that. But here, among creatures that put almost no value in looks, and with no members of the opposite sex to pronk for, he'd taken a much more relaxed approach to bodily upkeep. Wikus still enjoyed his bath every night and a shave in the morning; he kept his teeth clean and pulled a brush through his hair every once in a while. But things like cologne, hair gel, pressed slacks and shined shoes never took up an iota of space in his busy brain anymore. Table manners were out as well, helped along greatly by Brutus's repeated condemnation of them. Wikus had never realized how many wholly unnatural mannerisms were expected by human social norms until they were cast off. It was bliss.

Behaving in a more poleepkwan fashion was only part of Wikus's integration into Colony life. Once his guardians were satisfied that he was comfortable enough with his environment and that his physical being was stable, he'd been granted a much-anticipated liberty: a job. Commander Ruwala had set one aside especially for him, a trade she knew he would not only succeed at, but one that would benefit him as well.

The position in question was located in Small Parts Acquisition, an impressive canyon of a room, chock full of countless pieces of equipment. All available wall space as well as a strip in the middle held machinery, leaving a narrow gap down the length of each side of the room. If a part was small enough to carry, it had come through this shop at some point. Tools and elements of the ship itself were brought to SPA when they broke down or became too dirty to function properly, and here they were disassembled, cleaned or repaired, and stashed for future use. On a self-contained starship, nothing was ever discarded.

The department was headed by a retired soldier named Kotai. Once an arms expert, he now put his vast knowledge of poleepkwan technology to use keeping the Fiordraa well-maintained. He wasn't yet elderly, but Kotai was nonetheless beginning to show his age. He may have been heavily scarred, a little faded, and just a bit slower in his locomotion than his younger peers, but he had not adopted the cheerful disposition of General Kwaziak. Upon their first meeting, Wikus had feared the worst. Kotai didn't seem at all pleased to have acquired an apprentice, much less an alien one. The first few days didn't go well and Wikus began to wonder if he had any business in the Colony's workforce. But the human's innate ability to work with his hands and his sheer determination to learn the job gradually won his teacher's respect. After a month, the pair got along like old friends, and Wikus could revel in a feeling of purpose again.

The environment in SPA was really quite pleasant. Many of the machines were running, either devices doing the cleaning or repaired parts being tested, and as a result the shop was much warmer than the surrounding corridors. Wikus could work without his gloves or jacket in the little clearing at the front of the room. There, a pair of benches faced each other, heaped with the day's assignments, and the soldier and his student sat across from one other, swapping casual conversation. There was also a monitor nearby, and even though most of the broadcasts made little sense to Wikus, it added a pleasing element to the cozy workshop. At the front of the space, a large service window allowed workers to drop off used parts and pick up their new items, but aside from these occasional visits, Kotai and Wikus had the shop to themselves.

The human had more than a few good reasons to keep his nose to the grindstone. As he handled each part, learning how to assemble it, so too did he learn how it functioned. Understanding the operation of something as complex as a poleepkwan freighter would have seemed like an impossibility for the alien, but as Wikus became familiar with the smallest of its portions, he began to get a feel for how things worked. His career was supplemented with lessons from Yeen, and the gargantuan picture puzzle began to assemble, one little piece at a time.

Wikus even surprised himself with how much of his education he was retaining. School had never been easy for him, and here, so far from home in the company of "prawns", he was learning more than he ever did in a human university. But the best incentive of all, in the man's opinion, was the promise Yeen had made shortly after he'd began work. If he continued to study and progress appropriately, Wikus was to be granted the chance to earn a pilot's license. The thought that he might one day fly his own spacecraft (successfully) was a tempting carrot indeed, and Wikus never missed an opportunity to remind his friend of that enticing offer.

The promise flitted through Wikus's thoughts this evening, as it did often, but there were other causes for his high spirits as well. The little cabin he still shared with Yeen and Joji was full of cheer and an unlikely volume of whimsy. A few days prior, Wikus discovered that his custom-made cleanser could produce fantastic soap bubbles; they swirled with dazzling iridescence even in low light and lasted absolutely forever. A simple spare gear welded to the end of a composite rod worked perfectly for a blowing wand and Joji, Mita and Spek could now enjoy the same simple diversion Wikus had known when he was small. Without lips, channeling the air in just the right way was rather unnatural for them, but the trio of youngsters mastered it easily. Wikus couldn't hide his amusement as he watched three creatures so supremely attuned to a symbiosis with technology enjoy such an elementary pastime. Even Yeen was finding concentration on his portable computer difficult as he sat at the table, the room full of elated squeaks and sparkling bubbles.

Wikus had fashioned a handful of wands so that everyone could play at once, but not all of the visitors were game tonight. Brutus sat on the floor, his back against the bunk and limbs drawn in close. He had done an even better job than his human friend at replenishing his physique, so much so that he could have been mistaken for a short, soot-covered soldier. The calories did nothing to quell his vigor, yet tonight his attitude was almost surly. It was odd, Wikus pondered; he'd never known his friend to turn down the chance to fool around, even though most of their games involved chasing or play-fighting. This capricious silliness was clearly beneath the hefty drone and he glared at the bubbles as they floated past as if trying to pop them with his mind.

"Come _on_," Wikus prodded, both literally and figuratively, jabbing at the shell-covered arm with one of his wands.

"No."

"It's _easy_. Just try..."

"_Quit_!" Brutus groused. "The things humans invent...this is just **ridiculous**..."

"Why? They're pretty..." Wikus realized an explanation of the appeal of this activity to someone who didn't get it was almost impossible.

"It's so _pointless_."

"_Duh_. Sometimes fun is pointless."

Brutus's stoic facade told Wikus he wasn't going to make any headway with this issue and he sighed, opting to investigate the doings of his other companion instead. He plopped himself down next to Yeen and leaned over his armored shoulder to peer at the monitor. The gentle, green worker responded with a warm greeting rumble as he continued to poke at the database.

"Wha'sis?" Wikus inquired with a casual merriment, propping himself against his partner, "More lessons?"

"Well, yes, but I have other things for you to read, too," Yeen smiled at his human's chummy indiscretion. His face turned a shade more serious as he glanced at the children, still enveloped in their play. "But not now...save these two for later. In private."

Wikus didn't require any further clarification. There was another object of anticipation on the horizon, an upcoming event that had ensnared the whole ship's attention and had the lone human practically giddy with excitement. The Fiordraa was nearing its first pit stop on the journey home, an arid planet called Uzenstaal. In less than a week they would be docked in the massive port of Keehar to refuel and take on supplies. Already waiting for them there was another poleepkwan freighter, the Noota. The vessel would take some of the Fiordraa's refugees on board to lighten the burden on its facilities and the pair of identical ships would then make the rest of the trek home together.

It was standard practice, certainly nothing for most to get excited over. But this stop marked a momentous milestone for Wikus as he had been promised a short excursion into the port alongside Yeen. Half a lifetime ago, he could only guess that his people were alone in the galaxy, maybe even the universe, and in a few days he'd be the first of his species to set foot on an alien world. And what was even more exhilarating, with a population in the hundreds of millions representing thousands of races, this particular city was teeming with all kinds of alien life. Needless to say, it was also a very dangerous place, prompting a law that poleepkwan youngsters were not allowed within its limits (much to Joji's dismay).

This knowledge did little to dampen Wikus's spirits; he'd been looking forward to this from the day he'd first decided to leave Earth. Yeen, however, was not the least bit pleased. He'd been to Keehar before and in his opinion, it was nothing to see...dirty, tangled, dangerous, a haven for criminals and illicit trades. Wikus had come so far and endured so much, it pained Yeen to know he had to drag him through another gauntlet, especially considering _he_ was in charge of the man's well being. It was difficult for the drone to see the appeal from Wikus's perspective; he'd known about aliens and spaceports all his life. But the human spoke of the upcoming outing as though he'd won the lottery, and Yeen knew he couldn't talk him out of it. The Commander had given her approval, she obviously had a great deal of confidence in the worker's capabilities and judgment. And Wikus did deserve some leeway in the matter. He'd done everything that was asked of him over the past year with little in the way of complaint. He'd learned and adapted very well, and he _was_ an adult capable of making his own decisions, as much as Yeen tended to think of him as his helpless ward. Besides which, the poleepkwa had a feeling Wikus would make an attempt to slip out on his own if he was forbidden to visit the port, and that would almost certainly be the end of him. Humans were nothing if not insatiably curious.

So, begrudgingly, Yeen had been preparing the chipper Earthling for their daytrip. He'd schooled Wikus in Haltherian, or "simple tongue", a universal language spoken in places where many races gathered. It was a straightforward and crude sounding dialect, intentionally simplified so that most any creature with something like a mouth could manage it. Wikus picked it up effortlessly; it was much easier for him to form these syllables than the growls, clicks and rumbles of the poleepkwan language. Yeen had also selected a few thorough and unsettling data files regarding the nature of life in Keehar for Wikus to study. The drone had little hope that these articles would dissuade his partner, but he had to know what he was getting into.

* * *

In the quiet of the evening, Wikus lay curled up in his pelts under the light of his bunk monitor. As promised, he'd waited until he was alone to review the information Yeen had flagged for him. The first set was nothing too frightening; it dealt mainly with the origins of Uzenstaal's largest port. Keehar was one of the most expansive cities in the galaxy. It had begun small, and as different species found it to be a convenient stopping point they settled there and the city spread outward, overspilling its borders again and again until it resembled a huge, black stain, like a melanoma on the surface of the desert world. The massive port was ringed with docks to suit hundreds of different kinds of craft; still more stations orbited around the planet for quicker stops. While the poleepkwa did not keep an embassy on this world, over 4,000 races were represented in the city's permanent populace.

The history of Keehar may have been intriguing to the human, but the risk factor was enough to give him serious pause. The second article detailed the darker side of the story and better solidified the reason Yeen had been so reluctant to take him. At the start, Keehar had been well policed by its pioneers, the Mi'thauw, an ancient race that were also responsible for developing the Haltherian language. But as the settlement grew, it became more unsuitable for these soft-spoken people and they abandoned it to seek out new venues. With so many different species intermingling, each with its own moral code (or lack thereof), a centralized rule book became impossible. Today, each resident was responsible for his own safety, each race free to deliver justice in whatever way it saw fit. Crime in this land was simply a way of life.

Most of the commonplace altercations were due to theft and con games, but kidnapping was also rampant in Keehar. The fate of the person taken was usually decided by his species; many were bought and sold as slaves or forced into prostitution. Those of high status were typically held for ransom. Others might even become a wealthy eccentric's pet. But it was the black market butcher shops that Wikus found most disturbing. For many races, consuming an intelligent species was not taboo, and the right carcass could make a successful killer very prosperous. Even poleepkwa had fallen prey to these crimes, and the article was full of nauseating photos...pictures of those who had died, and others who would have been better off if they had. It was a very real concern for a human; as the only one of his kind, a species never before seen by the rest of the galaxy, he would certainly be an ideal target for any kind of criminal. Rarity always garnered a higher price.

Wikus wished he hadn't saved this lesson until just before bed. As he closed the database and chose a window simulation to comfort him, he promised himself he would consider the pros and cons very carefully before he made a final decision.

The news wasn't _entirely_ dreadful, after all. The poleepkwan race enjoyed a very formidable reputation among all intergalactic travelers. As one of the few species whose warriors were physically larger, stronger and biologically geared towards combat, most wisely opted to avoid a clash with them, even if it meant the loss of a potential fortune. Add to it the intimidating array of deadly weaponry and it was quite likely that any poleepkwan escort, even a drone like Yeen, would be enough to keep trouble out of their way. It wasn't the carefree adventure Wikus had hoped for, but life rarely came without some strings attached.

* * *

The week before the Fiordraa's arrival at Uzenstaal slunk by at a snail's pace. In spite of the vow he'd made to himself, it didn't take Wikus long to reject the possibility that he might not see the port. It was unlikely he'd ever get this chance again, or at the very least, not for an age, and he'd regret it intensely if he let the opportunity pass by unanswered.

Breakfast in the mess hall this morning had a somewhat different feel than usual; the spacious eatery was largely devoid of soldiers, called away to man their posts. The freighter was currently searing its way through the planet's atmosphere and preparing to secure itself at the appropriate dock. Wikus was astounded at how little he could feel. He'd certainly expected some turbulence, or a change in the ship's air density, something. But life for most of the residents kept to the usual schedule and if he wasn't watching the event on Yeen's portable computer, he'd never have believed anything special was occurring. The excited Earthling attempted to divide his attention between his breakfast and the live teleplay of the landing, huddled snugly alongside Joji and his friends. The children on board had never before witnessed such an affair either and they were just as curious, despite the fact that they would have to remain on the ship.

Sitting to his other side, Brutus was becoming increasingly impatient. He had no interest in the pit stop or in an excursion to the surface, something his human brother found inconceivable. But today's first meal was somewhat of a treat, and a common favorite among the refugees, Wikus included. "Darii" was a coveted dish, high in calories and rich in flavor, made of an enormous centipede-like arthropod. The creature was delicately roasted in sauces and herbs, and each portion got a chunk of the body the size of a pot roast. It was served legs-up on a bed of fluffy steamed grains, and the segments of the flesh pulled out of the shell neatly, rather like a giant lobster tail. The meat was incredibly tender, free of gristle and connective tissues, with a flavor similar to buttery roasted chicken. If he disregarded the rice, Wikus could and usually did finish off the Darii; the resulting bellyache was well worth it. Today, with his nerves and his monitor distracting him, he'd only consumed half the bug. Brutus had scarfed his up in a wink and expected the usual hand-off from his smaller friend, but Wikus was taking an annoyingly long time with it.

"Finish up, Wikus," Yeen coaxed, "before Brutus blows a gasket."

Brow raised questioningly, Wikus pulled his concentration from the monitor to Yeen, then over to the ebony worker and he couldn't stifle a grin. Brutus was staring daggers at him, unblinking, his mandibles and antennae fidgeting nonstop in irritation.

"What?" Wikus teased, feigning ignorance, "What do you want? ...this?"

Brutus emitted an exasperated chuff and his eyes narrowed as he tried to decide if a swift blow to the human's head would ruin his chances at another half-Darii or expedite it.

"I'm done, here," Wikus relented cheerfully, "have it."

The drone's attitude did an instant 180 and he quickly gulped down the remainder of Wikus's breakfast, shell and all, as though he hadn't already had his own. When he'd finished, he gave his comrade a playful jab before joining the departing crowd to begin his work day. Yeen made yet another attempt to hurry the distracted children as well.

"Pleeeease, can we come, father?" Joji tried yet again, "Just this once... we'll be good!"

"You know it's not allowed," Yeen replied firmly. "And I promised to bring something back for you, didn't I?"

"Like what?" the child piped excitedly, shouldering his knapsack.

"We'll see. Now hurry, you'll be late."

The half-sized drone hugged a farewell to his father and his human before scurrying after his classmates, leaving only the unlikely pair at the table. Wikus was on his feet already, carry-all over his shoulder, brimming with anticipation as he smiled innocently at the somber drone seated at the dining table. Yeen sighed, watching the human bounce about for a moment until he was finally prodded to rise as well.

"Okay..._okay_! We're going. Do you have everything?"

"Yep!"

"Toilet?"

"Already went."

"Comm link fully charged?"

Wikus presented his left wrist with its shining new accessory. "Yep!"

"Good. Repeat what I told you..."

Wikus drew in a breath and, in a style reminiscent of early elementary school, recited the rules Yeen had hammered into him over the past week. "Always stay within three paces of you..."

"Good..."

"Don't speak with anyone unless you say it's okay..."

"Yes..."

"Don't _accept_ anything from anyone unsolicited..."

"Correct."

"Don't tell anyone anything about Earth, don't drink water from any public facilities, and I can buy whatever I want as long as it's not living or a weapon."

"Very good," Yeen confirmed as he fastened his own satchel across his thorax, "I supposed we'd better head down to the exit bay. **Three paces!**" he called out as Wikus jogged across the mess hall.

"Come _on_!" Wikus goaded, pausing near the entrance, "We're not even out of the lunch room yet!"

* * *

Wikus and Yeen were the last to arrive in the spacious, brightly-lit bay, and the only crew members leaving for recreational purposes. They took up their place at the end of a line of soldiers and their accompanying drones, all of whom had assigned tasks to conduct in Keehar. With the Fiordraa safely locked in place atop a giant set of columns, the exit bay could open to one of the dock's elevators that transported residents down to the ground level. Wikus stood on his toes, trying to get a glimpse of the outside through the lift's windows, but they were yet too far away and there were too many bodies for him to see more than an occasional slice of light.

Yeen took the man by the shoulder to garner his attention. "There is one last thing I need to discuss with you."

"What's that?" Wikus queried, his bright, green eyes meeting sober, yellow ones.

"This is for you..." Yeen retrieved a metallic object from his satchel and as he drew it forward, Wikus could see that it was a pistol. He'd never encountered a model like this before, but it was unmistakably poleepkwan in its design, utilitarian but sleek and beautiful, painted in the familiar two-tone block style. It was a silver-white with deep red accents and unlike the weapons found with the stranded drones on Earth, this one was pristine. It looked like it had never seen active duty.

"Whoa-ho..." Wikus uttered, his eyes lighting up like a child's on Christmas morning, and he outstretched both hands to receive the weapon. The human's wide, mischievous grin did not go unnoticed in the least and Yeen maintained his grip on the gun's barrel.

"Wikus, this..._look_ at me..."

"I am!"

"You're not! Pay attention...this is **not** a toy. And it is not for you to keep. Only for today. Do you understand that?"

Still holding on to the pistol himself, Wikus nodded at the worker, making every effort to keep his enthusiasm under control.

"Put it in your bag. You're not to use it unless I say so. Or, if we should become separated somehow, only if you have _no other choice_."

Yeen leaned close as he spoke those last three words, his voice as stern as Wikus had ever known it. In his large eyes, the human could see all of the hurt and fear that had been so prevalent in both of their histories and the memories of District 9 and 10 ebbed back into his own mind. "Okay..." Wikus said quietly, and Yeen relinquished his hold on the weapon.

The drone straightened himself as he watched his companion stash the gun reverently in his satchel's outermost pouch. When Wikus was certain it was accessible yet secure, he stood silently, gazing up at his caretaker as if wanting reassurance. Yeen's face softened, and he felt remorseful for having squelched the Earthling's gusto so completely. He offered a smile that was quickly reciprocated and drew the human close while they waited their turn to embark.

"You should tuck that into your shirt," Yeen gestured at the softly glowing crystal resting against the man's chest, "The less attention we draw, the better." The poleepkwa's own wrist band had already been set to "opaque", giving it the appearance of any mundane ornament. Wikus complied, and the fabric of his shirt did a moderately effective job at hiding the light.

At long last, the pair was able to cram themselves on board the elevator along with the remaining group of soldiers. As the door slid shut and they began to descend, Wikus squirmed in between the armored bodies and spiky limbs to press himself against the transparent face of the lift. There wasn't much to see yet, really; it was very much what he would have expected...machinery and concrete, a few poleepkwa milling about far below. He could see the sister ship on its own dock across the way, but the atmosphere of this planet was muggy and hazy, obscuring the view of anything a good distance away.

Wikus could feel the heat of Uzenstaal through the glass, most likely multiplied by this plantless, industrial avenue. He was dressed accordingly; they had prepared a short-sleeved version of his usual shirt for him in a medium orange, with a darker rust-colored bar on the bottom half. The color, it was hoped, would make him easy to spot amongst the crowd. His warm vest and gloves had been left behind, but it was a safety concern that had kept his long pants and heavy boots. Along with the necessary vaccines, the human had also been injected with a chemical that could prevent him from losing too much of his bodily fluids and stave off dehydration and heat stroke. In spite of the treatment, Wikus could already feel sweat starting to bead up on his skin.

The stuffy elevator was nothing compared to the temperature on the planet itself. When they reached the ground and the bulky doors parted, a stifling, humid heat struck Wikus like a tidal wave and he coughed at the shock. It was likely he'd become too accustomed to the chilly air of a starship in deep space, but even so, he was certain he'd never felt anything like this on Earth.

The rest of the lift's occupants filed out methodically, as though they didn't even notice the change in temperature; Wikus found himself longing for his tough poleepkwan shell again. Yeen stood expectantly by his side, hopeful that this unpleasant experience might change his partner's mind. No such luck.

Wiping at his damp forehead, Wikus stepped out into the oppressive heat, reeling at the significance of the moment. Neil Armstrong's famous quote darted through his thoughts briefly. The moon landing had been the end result of so many years of planning, training, research and social advancement. But today, due to a weird twist of fate, an unassuming South African bureaucrat had managed to circumvent decades, maybe even centuries of human technological advancement to walk on an inhabited alien world for the first time.

There was little chance to revel in amazement. A bullet train-like transport was waiting for them in the channel below their platform, and most of their party were already on board. They wouldn't hold the train for long and if they were serious about their adventure, they'd need to pick up the pace. Yeen led the way down a rusted flight of steps and the pair clambered aboard the dilapidated train.

Wikus could tell from the exterior of the tram that air conditioning was a pipe dream. Once on board, his suspicions were confirmed; the transport was even hotter than the air outside and it looked like it had never been maintained. It was filthy, strewn with trash, the windows cracked and greasy. But as he took his place on a hard plastic bench, his joy was not dampened one bit. He twisted in his seat to watch the scenery begin to slink by, then gradually dissolve into a blur as the train reached full pace. Even moving at what must have been a tremendous speed, it took a full 10 minutes before the skyline of Keehar began to solidify in the haze. However, it wasn't until they had stopped and were able to exit the train that Wikus could get a proper look at the city.

Unlike a human metropolis with its clean-cut skyscrapers, the structures here were piled on top of one another, forming unthinkably massive conglomerates of businesses and homes that disappeared up into the heavily polluted air. They were like wasps nests or some kind of hive in which each worker was of a different species from the next. Nothing matched, or even looked like it should be able to fit together. Each builder had just assembled his abode beside or above the next, and they spiraled up until no more could be worked into the mountain of habitation. It was an absolute riot of styles, ornamentations and functionalities, connected haphazardly with little walkways and staircases. Each gargantuan pile of structures was a different size and shape from the next, and people of all kinds could be seen mingling on and through them.

The group of poleepkwa entered the city's Main North gate and headed off on their respective missions. Yeen stood patiently beside his friend and allowed him time to process what he was experiencing. The drone tried to recall _his_ first time in the port...it seemed like a lifetime ago. Shortly after he'd reached the legal age, he'd accompanied his father on a routine supply run. He didn't remember being awestruck, it was a pretty ordinary excursion, though he did recollect feeling extremely relieved when they had finally left the city behind.

"Well," Yeen prompted eventually, "shall we?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure," Wikus replied, sticking close beside his protector as promised.

The pair entered the gate and made their way onto a crowded street. Though he knew it was probably a bad idea to look like a tourist, Wikus couldn't keep himself from gawking. He never could have envisioned such a place, not even after the poleepkwa had made their unintentional debut on Earth. The city was just as disgusting as promised. The gutters were full of garbage and waste, the air was gritty and a foul aroma permeated most everything. And now that he saw the buildings up close, Wikus was even more puzzled as to how they could even be standing. Many were propped with makeshift girders and all were in some state of disrepair. Above their heads, rickety walkways zigzagged over the street while higher still, small craft zipped by in no particular pattern.

Filthy as the place was, Wikus was enthralled. Every little thing he laid eyes on was new and strange. The most fascinating of all, though, was the populace. As he followed Yeen from the little twisting roads onto larger, more open ones, the crowd thickened in number and diversity. Aliens of every possible description wove amongst each other...some huge, some short, some mammalian, some reptilian, with a healthy smattering of "none of the above". Wikus could hear an occasional Haltherian phrase in the din, but the thick air was mostly a hodge-podge of countless foreign tongues and non-lingual vocalizations. People tugged livestock through the streets and vendors hauled carts of nameless wares. Almost all of the vehicle traffic was reserved to the skies; steering a car through a river of bodies like this would have been impossible.

Truthfully, navigation of any kind was a trick in itself here. The city was not laid out in any particular pattern or grid, and the streets had formed as needed. Nothing went in straight or parallel lines and with the building mountains towering so high overhead, getting any kind of bearing by sight seemed out of the question. Wikus didn't ask how Yeen knew where to go, he was simply grateful the drone appeared to have everything under control.

"So?" Yeen asked presently, raising his voice over the racket, "Enjoying it?"

"It's fantastic!" Wikus grinned.

"I was afraid you'd say that. No chance you'd like to go back now?"

"No way! We just got here...I could stand to get something to drink, though." Wikus wiped his face on his shirt again, the fringe of his hair matted with sweat.

"That sounds like a good idea," Yeen agreed. "If it's still open, there was a decent place this way..."

The drone led his companion down a network of streets and alleys and gradually, the nasty fragrance of unwashed masses gave way to some more pleasant scents. Wikus could smell exotic dishes cooking here and there, and the vivid aroma of produce and spices for sale. Eventually they arrived at the stand in question and Yeen was pleased to find it looking in reasonably good shape.

Their successful refreshment stop might have been an indicator of the day to come. Much to Yeen's relief, the pair meandered through Keehar with very little trouble; in fact, the excursion went splendidly. After an hour or so, the human's unflappable enthusiasm won over his caretaker's apprehension and they actually enjoyed themselves. Wikus did earn himself an occasional double take or dubious glance, but few bothered to inquire about his uniqueness. He certainly didn't have the look of an important figurehead _or_ a dangerous criminal, and that seemed to be good enough for most.

Yeen kept his partner on a short leash, but even so, there was more than enough to fuel Wikus's excitement. They browsed shops of all kinds and filled their satchels with treasures to share back on the ship. Most of the goods were treats and candies, but Wikus fell in love with a particularly dazzling trinket. It was a glass orb the size of a baseball; clear and highly reflective when dormant. But when a person held it in his hand, it fired up in an entrancing array of colored lights, casting patterns and figures on the ceiling above. The hue and pace of the lights were dependant upon the person's mood, and one could learn to change it with a concentrated mind, as if playing an instrument.

Yeen chose a similar sort of toy for his son. He picked up a colorful set of spheres and platforms that could be arranged to make over 1000 different games and puzzles, any of which could be shared with his friends or played alone. It would certainly keep their trio of youngsters occupied for quite some time.

Keehar was a place where one could buy just about anything, and that included food. Every race prepared and sold their own favorites and Wikus had the opportunity to sample food from seven different galaxies. Some he liked better than others, but all of them were, at least, interesting. His favorite of the day turned out to be a Koltahdie specialty, the "Hudj" dumpling. They were served four to a skewer, each about the size of a golf ball and very delicately deep fried. The light dumpling was then filled with a rich, sweet cream and glazed. The flavor was exquisite and Wikus had to have another every time they passed a Koltahdie food stand.

Eventually, energy and sunshine began to wane, indicating that it was time to return to the Fiordraa. Yeen and Wikus sat at a rustic little refreshment stall, enjoying one last drink. It was a kind of tea, served in a carved wooden bowl and poured over a heap of crushed ice. It was mild and sweet, spiked with something that tasted a bit like citrus and cinnamon; the perfect thing in this stagnant heat. Yeen had finished and waited serenely while Wikus savored the last of his, letting the ice melt away into the drink.

"You know, this was a pretty good day," Wikus mused, licking his lips and fighting off an "_I told you so_".

"Mm," Yeen clicked, "it certainly was. I'm _very_ proud of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. You did everything I asked of you. I know it would have been easy to get carried away in a place like this, but you were very well-behaved. Almost like you've done this before, " Yeen smiled.

"Well, I _am_ an adult, you know," Wikus grinned before he gulped down the rest of his tea.

"Sometimes I wonder. Finished?"

"Mm-hm."

"That goes there," Yeen pointed at a stack of used bowls, "and we'd better head back. We're required to return before dark."

"Right-o," Wikus complied. As fascinating as the city was in the light, he wasn't all that keen on seeing the night shift. He swiveled on his stool and pushed himself off onto the pavement, landing with a pained grunt.

"Are you okay?" Yeen worried.

"Uhf...man...yeah, my feet are just sore. Been a long day."

"Did you hurt them? Let me see..."

"No, no, we've just been walking for hours...don't your feet get sore?"

Yeen gave the man a famous poleepkwan head tilt. "Not unless they're injured."

"Huh," Wikus said as he worked a kink out of his back, "well, must be the exoskeleton, I suppose. It's normal for humans. Goes away after a good night's sleep, usually. Of course, this doesn't help much," he smiled and patted his midsection.

"Mnf," Yeen grumbled at the resurgence of an issue _he_ felt they'd resolved. "You're not fat."

"Says you."

"Yes. Says me. I'll let you know when you've gained too much weight."

"Oh, I'm sure." Wikus chuckled at the drone's agitated mandibles. He couldn't resist ruffling Yeen's feathers from time to time; most likely Brutus's influence.

"Come along, now," Yeen took the human's shoulder tenderly, "let's get going."

As Wikus willed his stiff, aching legs to move, he realized the surroundings were beginning to change noticeably. The bright smudge in the dingy haze above had sunk below the crests of the buildings and some streets were already shrouded in darkness. Here and there, lamps began to illuminate and alien signs, previously inconspicuous in the grime, flickered on. The pedestrians scarcely seemed to notice, and the walkways were just as jammed as they had been when they'd arrived. This was definitely not a city that slept.

Wikus's thoughts were now focused on a long, cool bath and his ever-comfortable bed. He followed along dutifully, making every effort to keep up with the green worker. Yeen's innate sense of direction led them back through the tangle of streets along the quickest route to home and eventually, Wikus began to recognize a few of the curiosities he'd commented on when they'd entered, which brought him a good deal of relief. Not only were his feet tired, they were sweltering inside boots designed to keep them warm. The lovely fur that made them so plush was matted and slick with a day's worth of perspiration. Every step made him wish he could stop and sit, and he kept telling himself that would happen soon...a few more blocks, and he could rest.

Finally they exited an alley onto the first large road they'd taken that morning, and Yeen was forced to stop short. Only half-attentive, Wikus bumped into the back of the drone with an "Oomf!" Momentarily stymied, he moved to the side to take in the cause of their impediment.

The wide street was completely crammed with people, from right to left. It seemed someone on the far right was either fighting over or giving away something of great importance, and every alien within earshot wanted his share. The mob was near-riotous, everyone clamoring to be heard above the others.

Yeen stood, wavering his antennae and considering the problem. He could easily see the setting sun casting its light on the docks through the canyon of structures before him. If they were to turn around and take the next best route, it would add another 45 minutes at least to their journey, even if he carried the exhausted human on his back. It would certainly be dark by then.

"Stay very close to me," Yeen shouted over the din.

Wikus nodded and pressed himself behind his friend as more bodies shoved and bumped them in the tumult. Yeen chose the thinnest spot in the crowd and began to force his way in as Wikus clung to the shoulder strap of his carry-all. As the two tried to make their way through the mess, those they had to push aside mistakenly believed the pair were attempting to squeeze past them to the front and responded aggressively. Yeen and Wikus were pummeled with expletives and flailing, pushy limbs, forcing the human to abandon his sheep's role to take up one of a herding dog. He released his grip on Yeen's satchel and began pushing bodies back himself, offering his own assortment of curses.

Yeen immediately felt the slack on his strap but before he could turn to properly collect his charge, there were already bodies separating them. "Wikus!" he shouted, "Don't let them push you down, I'm coming!"

"I'm..._stop it!_...I'm trying!" he growled, his frustration quickly escalating into outright anger. The majority of the creatures buffeting him were a good deal stronger and heavier than a human, and even as he tried punching and kicking at them, he was still losing ground. All his efforts seemed to do was exacerbate the situation, but he wasn't the sort of man to roll over when things got hairy. Out of sheer stubbornness Wikus continued to fight at the crowd, yet he appeared to be getting further from his partner.

Yeen wasn't having much more luck. He'd taken to jabbing at the mob with his arm spikes but there was just nowhere for the bodies to go. They were already reaching the breaking point; should he instigate a fight with any one of these people, the horde could turn into a riot in a heartbeat and Wikus wouldn't stand a chance on his own. The drone was torn between the need to protect his friend, who was becoming increasingly distant from him, and remaining calm enough to maintain what peace there was.

Wikus could no longer hear Yeen's voice above the noise and he was starting to grow nervous. A huge, toad-like female _something_ nearly flattened him against the wall of the nearest building and he complained loudly at her. The blubbery alien took no notice, her focus glued on the far end of the street. Wikus shoved at her, attempting to squeeze his way past, but his comparatively small hands just sunk into the flesh. Cursing to himself, he spun around and pressed his back against her flank so that he could brace his boots on the ground and hope to get some kind of leverage. But as he did so, Wikus caught sight of something through a hole in the crowd, something incredibly impossible that widened his eyes and dropped his jaw: a woman. A _human_ woman.

She materialized only briefly, obscured by the multitude milling around the street. What was even more unbelievable was that she appeared to be an African woman, her skin a deep chocolate with classic Masai facial features. Her pure-black hair was almost waist long, twisted into tidy dreadlocks and tied with ribbon behind her neck. She wore garments like silk scarves, all in shades of green, adorned with little sparkly bits where they were fastened snugly around her lithe body.

She was accompanied and protected by a trio of aliens Wikus remembered seeing in the ship's catalogue, though he couldn't recall the name. They were gangly, elongated, mammalian looking people, almost similar to camels walking on two legs, minus the hump. Their bodies were covered in thin, cream-colored fur and in place of a head of hair, they sported huge, rabbit-esque ears that hung down behind their backs. Each of them were dressed in silks just like the woman, in varying colors.

Wikus simply stood in place, dumbstruck, back resting against the impatient toad. The woman hadn't noticed him through the mass of bodies, and she was moving perpendicular to his would-be trajectory. Moving _quickly_; the pace the quartet was keeping was nearly a jog. They were either in a hurry to get away from the commotion or they had some urgent agenda, but they were headed further into the city, away from the gate. Wikus knew he only had seconds to make a decision.

He whirled around and shot a hand into the air, hoping Yeen would see but not able to wait long enough to be certain. "_**Chris!**__ This way!_" Wikus bellowed into the crowd, then turned and darted through the stragglers as fast as his weary legs would take him.

By now, the frustrated drone had taken to climbing over the people rather than through them, but it was almost as difficult a task. Aliens buckled beneath him, squirmed out of the way or struggled to push him off, and Yeen bobbed up and down across the bodies like a gull floating on rough seas. He had his head above the confusion just long enough to see his human's hand raise, then a flash of orange shirt and pale skin and Wikus was gone, running away from him into the darkening city.

Yeen was aghast, his eyes wide and mouth agape, but it only took a few seconds for him to regain his senses. Frantic, he scrambled over the rabble, leaving a wake of curses and minor injuries behind him, until he tumbled over the edge of the mass and plopped onto the street. As expected, frayed tempers finally snapped and a brawl broke out beside him, but the nimble worker was already on his feet and running. He couldn't possibly fathom what would cause Wikus to make such a rash and dangerous mistake, but he was heading for a labyrinth of narrow corridors and streets. If Yeen lost sight of him there, the human might be in serious trouble. In spite of his fatigue, the man was already a good distance ahead, and he popped in and out of sight between the jumble of aliens until he slipped down an alley and out of Yeen's view. Cursing, the harried drone dodged the pedestrians, determined to catch up before he lost track of Wikus altogether. He _knew_ this day had been going too well...

* * *

Gasping for breath and grousing in pain, Wikus pursued the mysterious woman and her escorts. As he charged through the streets, the twinge in his feet escalated to an agonizing throb that coursed all the way up his legs and into his backside. The bizarre event and the questions boiling in his mind pushed away his discomfort and he kept on putting one foot in front of the other.

After all, this was not something he could shrug off. If this woman was some kind of illusion, then it must have been intended for him, but who would want to do such a thing, and why? And if she _was_ real, it could only mean aliens had visited Earth before and kept it quiet. What possible reason could they have for keeping Earth to themselves? And why take this woman? Were there more humans living so far from home? Maybe even a whole settlement of them...Wikus had to know.

He was having an undoubtedly difficult time keeping up with these people. It was obvious now that they were headed somewhere with purpose, their haste hadn't slowed a bit since leaving the riot behind. Every time they exited an alley and dissolved into the swarm of a larger thoroughfare, Wikus would have to pause to pick them out again. Each time, he was certain he'd lose them for good before a hint of green silk caught his eye amongst the bodies. He called out to the woman in every language he knew but there was little chance she'd hear him through the thick, humid air and noise of the spaceport.

Even if he didn't lose sight of them, Wikus knew his time was running short. It was physically impossible for any human to outrun a poleepkwa; Yeen would be hot on his heels and it could only be seconds before this errant detour was put to an end. Wikus wasn't looking forward to that. His friend would certainly be angry. He hated the thought of disappointing the person who had just finished telling him how proud he was, but if he could just _stop_ the woman and speak with her...

With his chest heaving and most of his body in some degree of anguish, Wikus was forced to stop in front of another busy road. It took him much longer than it should have to spot the group, now entering a crossway far down the street, and he had the feeling this was the last time he'd be able to locate their position again. They were still gaining too much ground and he was almost tapped, but he had to give it one last try. Wikus staggered across the street, bumping into irritated aliens left and right, and set off down the path he was fairly certain they'd taken. It was more of a tunnel than an alley, narrow and almost completely dark, leading through one of the building-heaps. Wikus couldn't make out any shapes that looked like people, but there was some light at the end and he raced towards it.

As the frantic Earthling reached the tunnel's end and darted out of gloom, his left hand was wrenched back painfully, stopping him short. Expecting to see a furious drone behind him, Wikus was perplexed to find the alleyway empty. His comm link had caught on something sharp, and he was still entangled on it. It appeared to be the rusted out wreck of a small, personal craft that had crashed here and been left to decay. Wikus had managed to hook his wrist band on an exposed piece of twisted metal. He could feel blood sliding over his hand but he was in no mood to deal with that now. Swearing through gritted teeth, he hurried to free himself and return to his pursuit.

Once he was loose, however, it became clear that his efforts were of no avail. Wikus was standing in a sort of courtyard, a hole in the mountain that reached upward seven or eight stories and opened onto the sky. It was empty of pedestrians and seemed like it was designed that way. There were no shop fronts, just a few back doors and some connecting catwalks winding up the sides. It was cluttered with litter, though, as the people who lived in these buildings evidently used the space to dump their garbage.

Wikus strode into the middle of the courtyard, still panting. Across from him, four corridors similar to the one he'd just used exited the space, each in a different direction, and he had no way of knowing which one the woman had taken. His heart sank, but he decided to try one and see if he'd get lucky. Wikus chose the most inviting of the four and trotted down it to find that it, too, opened onto a wide, busy street. As expected, the group was nowhere to be seen, and the exhausted human had to admit defeat.

Wikus doubled over for a moment, his body completely drained, and attempted to catch his breath. He was heartbroken; even though this person looked nothing like Tania, it was as though someone had shown him his beloved wife, then taken her away all over again. He'd come so close, _so close_ to making a connection with another of his kind, something he'd given up on years ago. But, perhaps the poleepkwa would be able to solve this riddle for him. Wikus straightened himself as he considered it...they had political relations with many races, certainly they'd be able to find out what this was all about, and Yeen...

His heart beginning to thump in anxiety, Wikus jogged back the way he'd come and stopped in the courtyard again, as if expecting to see the drone waiting for him there. Where _was_ he? There was no way he couldn't have caught up by now. The city was dark. He'd made them late. But Yeen would _never_ head back without him...Wikus nearly slapped his head in self-admonishment as he remembered his comm link. He hadn't owned it that long, and with his mind set so firmly on the mysterious stranger, the obvious solution had evaded him.

Wikus tapped at the watch face in the gloom, but got no result. He could feel that its surface was slick and it brought to his attention a deep, searing pain in his hand but the scarce light was making it difficult to see. Instinct told him he was facing a considerable problem and Wikus hurried to stand beneath one of the few exterior lamps in the circle to get a proper view. His left hand looked like it had been dipped in red paint; blood covered it up to his wrist and had splattered all the way down the front of his shirt and trousers, aided by his elevated heartbeat. Using his shirt to wipe away as much of the mess as possible, Wikus could see that the shard of metal had gouged a trench into the top of his hand, so deep between the bones that it just missed piercing the skin on his palm. It burned and continued to purge thick gobs of crimson, but he could only deal with one crisis at a time.

Unfortunately, his comm link hadn't fared much better. Wiping away the blood revealed an opening in the link's cover, barely sufficient to poke a fingernail through, but it was enough. The thing was nearly impossible to destroy, but it could be disassembled. Evidently the motion of catching it on the shrapnel and then yanking it forward had pried open the case like a cap off a bottle. An opening like this would allow the translucent aquamarine fluid that powered the little device to leak out, but Wikus dearly hoped there was still enough inside to give him a minute or two of use.

Hastily he snapped the case closed again and gave it another tap of the finger. Its face flickered weakly, then went out again. "Son of a..." Wikus muttered, tapping it again and again. This time, it refused to illuminate at all. "**Come **_**on**_**!**" he growled, slamming his wrist into a nearby support beam furiously, but it only sent another wave of pain through his mauled hand. It appeared he was on his own.

Wikus stood quietly in the pool of pallid light, weighing his options. The courtyard was eerily quiet compared to the rest of the city. The racket reverberating through the tunnels on either side sounded haunting and distant. Even though he knew this incident was entirely his own doing, Wikus couldn't help but feel sorry for himself, alone in the dark, listening to the _pit-pat_ of his blood dripping from his fingertips and onto the pavement. At the very least, he should try to treat his wound.

Keeping his injury raised above his heart, Wikus pulled his satchel to the front and rifled through an outer pocket with his good hand until he fished out a compact first aid kit. Like a clumsy magician attempting an ill-practiced card trick, he pressed the case against his chest so he could manipulate it with one hand. With a bit of fussing, he managed to retrieve a disinfectant wipe and a small tube of clear gel. After replacing the case, Wikus bit off the tube's cap and tore open the wipe packet. It took some quick handiwork, but he was able to wipe the wound clean and smear the entire contents of the tube into the gouge fairly well. He smoothed it over with his thumb and, for reasons he couldn't solidify, blew on it gently as it set up. In a few minutes, the gel had become a soft, plastic-ish substance, very effectively sealing the flesh and soothing the pain.

Wikus inspected his hand carefully, feeling a minor degree of optimism. If nothing else, he'd at least been able to take care of one problem on his own, however insignificant. He glanced around for a trash bin simply out of habit and finding none, tossed the used packaging to the ground with the rest of the garbage. What to do now...

He'd always been taught that a person ought to remain in one place when he was lost. Then again, those rules didn't take foreign worlds into account. From everything he'd learned about Keehar this place was a jungle, and in the wild a bloodied, exhausted straggler was easy prey. He hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings at all as he'd raced through the maze of streets but maybe, if he took it slowly, he could pick his way out and get back to where he started. Perhaps he'd even find Yeen along the way.

As Wikus longed for his partner's warm, comforting embrace a sickening thought bullied its way into his brain: what if something had happened to the drone? He'd left him behind in a riot, maybe he never even got the chance to give chase. He could be anywhere, injured, detained or worse...if something bad had happened to Yeen because of the man's reckless decision, he'd never be able to live with himself. Regardless, he couldn't stay put any longer. Wikus sorted out his unruly hair and made every attempt to look like he wasn't stranded and terrified, then set off back the way he'd come.

* * *

On a catwalk far above the courtyard, hidden in darkness and silence, a pair of pupiless yellow eyes watched the strange alien stride out of the lamplight below. Their owner had never seen a creature quite like this one before, and it was perplexing why it'd be alone in a place like this. It didn't _look_ dangerous. It didn't even look like it knew where it was going. Still, appearances could be deceiving and the figure contemplated the scenario carefully before it turned and left the courtyard as well.

* * *

Nearly 12 blocks away, Yeen paced up and down a busy passage like a caged beast, rubbing his forehead fretfully. He'd sprinted along every possible route that Wikus could have taken with no sign of the human. How he could have escaped so completely was baffling, to say nothing of the possible reasons _why_ he'd run. Again, he tried his comm link. And yet again, the same response: "Channel unavailable." Yeen was inclined to fear the worst; the reasons why Wikus's link would be inaccessible could only be that it was either destroyed or out of fuel, and he'd specifically verified that the man had charged it.

It seemed the wayward Earthling's only remaining salvation would be his tracking implant. To think, if Wikus had had things his way, he'd be without it. Unfortunately, as a drone, Yeen did not have access to the equipment needed to track his partner. He'd have to call a high-ranking soldier; General Tarzier. The distressed worker shuddered. Punishment for this kind of recklessness would certainly befall them both and Yeen couldn't bear the thought of inflicting such a harsh lesson on his vulnerable companion. If he contacted the General and Wikus turned up a moment after, they would _still_ be in for it.

He stood tall, peering above the crowd, hoping to see a weary but unharmed human making his way towards him. Disappointed, he attempted the comm link again. Still nothing. He couldn't afford to wait any longer; the more time Wikus spent in Keehar alone, the less likely it was they'd recover him alive. Yeen opened a channel to the ship's command post.

* * *

Reclining in the cramped Command Room on board the Fiordraa, General Tarzier watched the electric lights of the spaceport replace the murky sun. He was silent and brooding. Beside him, Colonel Azik had just finished checking in the last of the expedition parties. Everyone had returned with the exception of the only two out on recreational business. Azik eyed the General warily, cautious not to disturb him. He knew these last two crew members were the cause of his burdened mind.

"Yorintu's back?" Tarzier asked, sounding more like he was speaking to himself rather than Azik.

"Sir. And the rest of his group."

"Any trouble?"

"No, Sir."

"Mn," he grunted, eyes still fixed on the city. "And the other two?"

"Have...not checked in yet, Sir," Azik answered gingerly. Before he could decide if he ought to make a helpful suggestion, the intercom buzzed for attention.

"That'll be Yeen," Tarzier muttered. As the massive soldier made no inclination to reach for the console, Azik opened the link himself.

"Yes, Sir," he confirmed.

"Put him through."

A panicky voice crackled through the intercom, "General Tarzier...Sir..."

"What happened, Yeen?"

"Wh-...it's Wikus..."

"He's lost," the General finished for him.

"Yes, Sir. There was a riot and we were separated, I've been looking for over an hour but-"

"I'm on my way. **Don't** move," Tarzier snarled as he hefted himself onto his feet.

"Yessir."

Colonel Azik closed the link and ducked to the side to keep out of the General's way. He was quite familiar with the heat broiling in the soldier's eyes and had no interest in making it worse.

"Take over. I won't be long," Tarzier added as he left the bridge.

"Sir!" Azik felt a deep sympathy for the pair the General would soon confront; if Wikus was found alive and well, he might soon wish he'd remained lost.

* * *

Somewhere in the gloom of Keehar, Wikus continued his fruitless search, wandering blindly from one street to the next. The chance that he'd have been able to successfully backtrack the same route was pretty slim anyway, but now he felt truly lost. Not to mention tired, sore and thirsty; he needed a place to rest for a bit.

Along the roadside he spotted a quiet produce market and beside the bins of fruit, a few stacks of old crates. Gratefully he plopped down on one with a long moan, relishing the relief he felt in taking the pressure off his feet. Wikus rested his back against the wall but was careful to keep a keen eye fixed on the passers-by for trouble. The nocturnal residents of the port milled to and fro but none paid him much attention. And there wasn't one among them that looked even remotely poleepkwan.

"You really screwed up this time," Wikus mumbled to himself. "Yeen's gonna kill me."

The weary human hadn't settled nearly as long as he would have liked before the shopkeeper emerged with a new batch of produce. He was a spindly, amphibious looking creature, no larger than a six-year-old human, with smooth skin colored in blues and grays. With his arms much longer than his legs, he moved in a very monkey-like way as he clambered up onto the bin to dump the new fruit into the heap. Once he was satisfied with the display, he moved to return to his shop and caught sight of the stranger lounging on his crates.

Clearly he didn't think much of this never-before-seen alien. The merchant began squawking at him in an unfamiliar, chattering language, throwing his long arms at the intruder in an unmistakably hostile manner. Wikus struggled to his feet, attempting to quell the creature's distrust in his best Haltherian, with little success. The shopkeeper wasn't satisfied until Wikus had backed a good 10 or 12 feet away. Then he gave the outsider another good scolding before he scampered back into his market.

Wikus stood in the dim light, a little frazzled by the unexpected encounter. He was about ready to continue his quest when a genteel voice at is back caught him by surprise and he whirled around to face it.

"Pay him no mind, he is always that way," it said plainly in the common tongue.

Wikus was looking upon one of the most grotesque aliens he'd yet seen. The "man" was a good foot shorter than he but twice as wide; he looked very much like a naked mole-rat awkwardly sculpted out of snot. His putrid gray skin was mostly hairless, bunched and folded asymmetrically over muscles and fat. Each thickset limb ended in four stumpy digits with orange, ill-trimmed claws. His face was uncannily mole-like; a set of four lower incisors jutted up towards his nose, separating flabby jowls that framed his tiny, beady black eyes. This resident appeared to be a merchant of some kind as well, clad in a leather apron that had probably been a light color when it was made. Now it was greasy and filthy with stains, which seemed to befit the mole pretty well.

What did not mesh with this thing's character was the manner in which he was conducting himself. He clasped his chunky hands before himself politely, and when he spoke, it was as though he were an underling addressing his supervisor. Wikus found it more than a little unnerving and he slowly backed a few steps away. The man did not advance, but he continued in his welcoming tone.

"You are new to this place, yes? I am called Chova. My family is recent here, too. What is it _you_ are named?"

Wikus remembered well the instructions Yeen had given...do not speak to anyone. He furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of this oddball's overt friendliness, and continued to inch backwards. Simultaneously, he reached behind himself for his satchel, hoping to keep his actions hidden from the stranger while he felt around for the pistol.

Chova ignored the human's reluctance to converse. "You are in need of help? We have communication portals," he offered, pointing at the dormant comm link on Wikus's wrist. This guy didn't miss a thing. "Come to my home...it is dangerous here alone, we will offer you refuge."

As Chova outstretched his hand, Wikus finally found the correct pouch on his carry-all. But he had no sooner placed his fingers on the gun when a sharp pain in his right thigh caught him by surprise and he yelped, yanking a weaponless hand from the bag. The pain was steady, as though something had stuck in his leg. Sure enough, he twisted around to see a tiny dart glinting in the street's multi-colored lights, no larger than the remains of a used-up pencil. Wikus hastened to pull the thing out of his thigh, but the damage was already done. Its transparent vial was empty and he was already beginning to feel the effects of the drug. The dart fell from his hand and clinked on the pavement, and everything began to take on a pinkish-orange fuzz.

Much to his astonishment, however, Wikus did not lose consciousness. He dropped his hands to his sides and wavered a bit on his feet, but his mind and senses were still very much intact. He told himself to run or at least, to fetch the pistol, but his physical being remained inert. It wasn't until Chova spoke again that he was able to react at all.

"Good...yes? Now, you come with me...," he soothed, still offering his hand.

Wikus was horrified when he heard himself reply. "...Thank you...," he said, somehow independent of his own brain, and took the mole-rat's open hand. He felt panic well up inside again as Chova led him down the street and he was utterly unable to prevent himself from following. The drug had turned him into a living marionette, acting and speaking in whatever way Chova saw fit. The only way he'd be able to use his weapon now would be if the mole wished him to do so.

From across the street, the luminous yellow eyes watched Chova and their mutual prey turn down a secluded alley. So far, so good.

* * *

Once out of view of the main road, Chova ceased his unnervingly hospitable prattle and began to move with purpose, huffing through his ugly teeth and dragging the incapacitated human behind him. Wikus nearly stumbled over his own feet as his logy body struggled to keep pace. He couldn't even look around to get a sense of where he was being taken, not that he knew where he was to begin with. His captor led him through narrow, jagged alleys into a neighborhood that could be considered dicey even by Keehar standards. For a solid ten minutes they jogged in the oppressive darkness until Chova reached his destination and relinquished his grasp on his acquisition.

Wikus found himself in a narrow passage behind a dismal, unnamed building, standing in the flickering light of a single, pathetic bulb. They were waiting before a lone door while Chova rifled through his apron for the key. As Wikus struggled to make out his surroundings, he felt the acid rise in his gullet. The back alley was made congested by heaps of refuse, the vast majority of which appeared to be stripped carcasses. The bones, hair and exoskeletons of countless creatures lay in careless piles, the remains of their flesh rotting and seeping together. The weak light caught glimpses of unidentifiable vermin writhing and clambering among the carrion and the stench of decay was gut-wrenching at best. The alley was so beleaguered with bodies and trash that all that remained free was a path just wide enough to allow one to walk from the street to the door.

Inside his mind, Wikus was shouting at himself. If he could only move...no one was restraining him, it didn't matter where he ran, _anywhere_ had to be safer than this...but he was powerless to react. Independent of his terrified thoughts, his body wavered slightly on its feet, forward and back. The haze was thick now, and he was humming merrily to himself like a man waiting for a taxi after a few too many. It was as if it were happening to someone else and he was getting a first-person view through the victim's eyes.

Eventually the lock unbolted with a _clunk_ and Chova pulled the heavy iron-like door open. Wikus was shoved roughly inside the pitch-black interior and the door closed behind them, sealing off the only avenue of escape. The smell inside the building wasn't much more pleasant than that outside. The mole resumed dragging his captive by the wrist through the darkness and after several clumsy paces, Wikus heard his footfalls take on a different and sickeningly familiar resonance. He could feel that he was walking on a grate now and its surface was tacky and gooey from a lack of cleaning. He'd no sooner made the realization before Chova released his arm and left the man standing alone and blind.

When the stumpy alien finally flipped on the lights, Wikus knew he was looking upon his journey's final stop. He'd been parked in the corner of a sizable square room with flat metal walls and, as suspected, a sturdy grated floor. The abattoir was filthy, streaked and discolored by years of unwashed stains and rust, made all the more bleak by the wan greenish illumination. The entire left wall was dedicated to the butcher's tools, a gruesome patchwork of blades, scoops and saws, all of them in various states of repair. Chains capped with hooks and grapples hung from the ceiling and there was an assortment of metal tables scattered about in varying sizes for different creatures. Beneath his feet, the grate was caked and lumpy with gobs of rotting blood and tissue, so much so that some of the openings were completely clogged. There was only one other exit across the way, a narrow doorway that headed a dark hall. Beyond it, Wikus could just barely make out shapes that suggested at a shop front. A shop that probably faced an open street; so very close, and yet, completely unobtainable.

Chova seemed eager to get to work. Chattering excitedly to himself, he chose a long, low table with assorted shackles on either end and wrenched it forward. He scurried around it and as Wikus stood helpless, the mole quickly pulled the satchel over his head and tossed it to the floor. Chova didn't even bother to check the bag for valuables; what he had in his possession now was worth far more than anything the human could have been carrying.

"Lie down. Here," Chova ordered, pushing Wikus onto the table when the drugged prisoner didn't move quickly enough. As soon as Wikus was on his back, the butcher busied himself at his feet, fiddling with his trouser cuffs and boot zippers until he figured out how to remove the shoes. Those he tossed into the corner as well without giving them a second glance. So too went the damaged wrist communicator.

With the human's hands and feet unadorned, Chova chose the appropriate cuffs and bound them, pulling the cables taut and keeping the man's limbs stretched securely towards either end of the table. When he felt certain his prey was properly restrained, he grinned at the immobile body, showing an even beastlier array of misshapen teeth. Wikus continued to hum drunkenly.

As the elated meat monger scuttled to his wall to choose the best tool, Wikus caught the faint sound of a visitor letting himself in to the darkened butcher shop out front. Seconds later, a black silhouette and a pair of luminous yellow eyes made their way quietly down the corridor. When the alien stepped into the light of the abattoir, his visage made Chova look like a puppy.

The butcher's accomplice was largely reptilian in nature, like a dementedly mutated alligator from a toxic waste swamp. He was bipedal, lean and bound with stringy muscle. His leathery hide was a blackish-green and the only clothes he wore covered his hips and upper legs, some kind of trouser that looked like it'd been fashioned out of the shreds of other demolished garments. Around his waist and torso he wore similarly hand-made belts that secured an array of tools, weapons and chemicals. He had a whip-like tail that he held a few inches from the ground and his hands and feet each ended in four cruel talons. Short, crocodilian jaws housed a riot of curved teeth like cat's claws, so disorderly and protruding that he couldn't close his mouth completely. They obviously saw a lot of use; some were broken off and others were missing entirely, leaving only putrid, reddened sockets. Perhaps the oddest thing about the creature was his stance...even with both feet planted firmly on the floor, he looked as though he were being suspended by an invisible cable attached at the back of his thick neck. All four of his long, gangly arms hung limp from the shoulders, swaying slightly as he moved. His head, too, seemed to always tilt forward a bit. But it was the eyes Wikus found most unsettling.

The lizard-man's eyes were lit like a jack-o-lantern's, fire-yellow and completely without pupils or irises. They cast a bit of illumination down his gnarled muzzle and along the underside of his pronounced brow ridge. The thing directed his soulless gaze to the hapless Earthling but his expression was impossible to read.

Chova's, by contrast, was not. The mole had chosen a frightening machete blade, the top of which curved up in a sinister hook, and he was brandishing it joyfully as he greeted his colleague in a gurgling language. The reptile didn't seem to share the butcher's enthusiasm (if he was capable of showing any emotion at all) and simply stood soberly at the exit, taking in his partner's revelry.

With the lizard-man looking on, Chova positioned himself beside the table and turned the machete blade-up over Wikus's chest. He carefully snagged the shirt collar with the knife's hook and, in one quick motion, split the garment down the center. The blood-stained fabric flopped to the sides and exposed the bound man's bare torso and, sitting innocently upon the pale skin, the glowing Ulu Mahan.

Chova and the reptile both recoiled slightly, eyes widened, and there was a charged silence in the dank room. It was blatantly obvious that they recognized the significance of the crystalline flame and neither had been expecting such a circumstance. The lizard was the first to react, throwing up all four previously lifeless hands in a very recognizable "_I'm out_" gesture and edging backwards towards the hall. This dereliction seemed to snap the mole-rat out of his dumbfounded trance and he slammed the knife on the table beside Wikus with a new and fierce resolve. A sparkly necklace was not about to come between him and his fortune.

Chova

clasped the jewel in his meaty paw and wrenched it over his captive's head before he whipped it at the reptile, along with a few choice expletives. In a liquid-quick move of the hand, the retreating alien caught the chain and held it, glaring at the violet flame swinging from his claw. Chova spat an angry command at his accomplice, punctuating his distaste with a flailing of his lumpy arms. For a moment, the pair stared each other down. Then, oddly enough, the more formidable of the two relented. The lizard took one last look at Wikus before he turned and loped down the hall, the Ulu Mahan still clutched in his hand.

Wikus watched the little glowing gem disappear into the shadows, taking with it the protection it had been promised to afford him. Chova did so as well and when he was satisfied that his orders had been taken, he returned to the grisly chore he so relished. His exuberance might have been shaken, but looking over this never-before-seen specimen reminded him of the bounty it would soon bring. With macabre intensity, Chova inspected the odd creature, his stubby nose only inches from the slow rise and fall of Wikus's chest. Once the visual was complete, he pressed his hands brusquely into the flesh, feeling up and down the human's chest and belly, getting a sense of the skeletal structure and organ placement before he opened the body.

Evidently pleased with his inspection, Chova rubbed his hands together and muttered a reassurance to himself before reclaiming his knife. He situated it blade-side up again but this time, positioned the hook in the center of his subject's chest and pressed it firmly into the tissue. In spite of the fact that he was becoming increasingly drowsy, Wikus felt the puncture with vibrant clarity. A searing, biting pain radiated through his immobile form as the metal gouged skin and muscle to scrape nauseatingly against his sternum. He could hear himself scream inside his mind, yet any observer might believe he was about to drift off to sleep. His eyelids were becoming heavy, his body was still, calm and quiet...he hadn't even managed an "ouch". And perhaps it would have been better to allow himself to fall asleep. He knew it was certainly the wise option, to spare himself the agony of being disemboweled alive. Yet he fought it with every iota of strength he'd retained. Wikus was determined not to give up, and if keeping himself awake was the only victory he could manage, then so be it. At the very least, Chova would have to look his victim in the eye as he slaughtered him.

Of course, from the butcher's perspective, death was a lucrative business. Claiming one more life, even an intelligent one, was just another day on the job and such a thing as pity would only be detrimental. He demonstrated none of it as he removed the hook from the puncture, trailing a few speckles of deep crimson across the light skin. Chova brought the bloodied hook to his nose and sniffed at it, then took a small, cautious taste. It wouldn't do to sell this alien to the highest bidder, only to have them discover it was poisonous. The dead buyer's relatives would surely come back and return the favor. Unfortunately for Wikus, the flavor of human blood appeared to be pleasing and Chova burbled in approval.

Grinning cruelly, the butcher replaced the hook into the wound, sending a fresh jolt of pain though the man's chest. Wikus braced himself as he waited for his captor to give his skin the same treatment his shirt had received. His thoughts turned to Yeen, and Brutus, Joji, Ruwala...he'd give anything to be with them now. He would never see them again, but at least his memories of the kindness they'd shown him would be comforting as he passed to the next world and whatever awaited him there.

Chova resumed his careful incision, but he hadn't cut more than an inch through the soft skin before he stopped again. It appeared he was listening to something and Wikus quickly realized the lizard-man was speaking with someone in the shop. It was clear from his tone that whomever it was certainly wasn't welcome. Curiously, the visitor wasn't making a sound, at least, not any that human ears could hear.

Once more infuriated, Chova withdrew his knife again and hefted it firmly, intending to use it to settle whatever problem his seemingly disadvantageous accomplice was having. He hadn't taken a full step towards the door, however, before the reptile's surly grousing escalated into a bone-chilling shriek. The butcher was frozen in mid stride as the sound of a struggle threatened to drown out the terrified squealing. A few seconds after, the market at the end of the hall lit up in a blue-white flash Wikus recognized all too well. The sloppy, ugly sound of a living thing blown apart from the inside followed, and then silence.

Horrified and blindsided, Chova remained stock-still, holding his machete, unable to choose between fight and flight. For a moment it seemed the only movement in the room was the stream of blood that had welled up in Wikus's wound and spilled over the side of his chest. As the pair watched, the feeble light at the end of the corridor was utterly blocked out by a massive form making its way towards them. Affixed to it, an orange orb burned through the dark, bobbing with its owner's gait.

Into the cold green light stepped General Tarzier, nearly doubled over to fit through the tunnel. He straightened himself, antennae brushing against the ceiling, and fixed Chova with a furious glare that Wikus hoped he'd never have to witness again. His striped carapace was splattered with blood like a gruesome Jackson Pollock painting and his still-smoldering Arc Rifle rested against his plated shoulder.

The butcher gaped at the soldier towering over him. His hand trembled and for a second or two, it appeared he actually considered taking a swing at the General. Chova's fear was quick to decide for him; he dropped the blade and opted to make a run for it. No sooner had the stocky killer turned to take a stride then Tarzier aimed his weapon and fired. Again the room lit up as the energy bolt sizzled through the stagnant air and hit its target with expert precision. The mole-rat blew apart like a water balloon, plastering Wikus and the abattoir with black blood and greasy entrails.

Unresponsive and thoroughly exhausted, Wikus was uncertain whether he was giving up the fight or if the drug was finally overtaking him. He was dimly aware of Tarzier's voice before the orange haze blackened entirely and he relinquished his consciousness to the sedative's influence.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Trading Death for Damnation**

The first sensation that Wikus could identify as he wandered back into the world of the living was a gentle and consistent warmth at his back. At first, he was uncertain if the sensory information was real or just the remnant of a dream. But as he lay, eyes closed, it became clear...he was on his back, on something hard, but warm. His clothes were missing, which meant the air that met his skin was noticeably cool. Toasty on his back, chilly at his front, like a grilled cheese left on the griddle. As the logy human opened his eyes and blinked in the stark, sterile light of the 1st Quadrant Med bay, he began to understand how close he'd come to being just that.

The room was quiet but for the usual ambient buzzing and ticking of the machinery. Wikus remained still, allowing the haze to lift, and gazed at the dormant scanners above him through tired, narrowed eyes. He was alive, and he was safe. How that had happened, he couldn't quite remember. Clearly he'd slept through the commotion and his caretakers had allowed him to regain consciousness in peace.

Eventually, he dared a simple movement, lifting his left hand. His muscles were stiff, but the medication must have been doing its thing as he felt no pain. Lazily he inspected his open hand, twisting it front to back. Where there had once been a hideous gouge, all that remained were a few neat scars, the tattered flesh soldered back together with inhuman precision. The skin around the wound was clean, but there was still a noticeable amount of dried blood caked around his nails and in the creases of his knuckles. Likewise, the rest of his weary body was still streaked with essence of Chova, its putrid aroma now making itself known in Wikus's nostrils. He grimaced and lowered his hand to idly trace his fingers down the center of his chest. As he expected, that cut too was sealed beautifully; his physical self would retain very little to remember the incident, at any rate.

As Wikus permitted his mind to wander over the aftermath of his misadventure, he suddenly realized that his fingers ought to have found his most valuable of accoutrements and his eyes widened in alarm. Frantically he felt around his neck for the Ulu Mahan until a soft, clicking voice interrupted.

"I have it here," Yeen said in a somber tone.

"Ah!" Wikus barked, startled, and snapped his gaze sideways. The drone had been sitting to his right so quietly and so still that Wikus would have continued to believe he was alone in the infirmary had Yeen not spoken. In the poleepkwa's insectoid hand, he lifted the gleaming gold chain and its familiar glowing crystal.

"Oh..." Wikus sighed, relaxing himself. Yeen dropped his arm again, cradling the precious necklace in his cupped hands, and for a moment poleepkwa and human stared at one another in silence. Both seemed to struggle for the best way to open an uncomfortable but obligatory dialogue.

The careworn human grunted as he struggled onto his side to face his friend. In his most sincere tone, Wikus offered the only sentiment that came to the forefront of his drug-addled mind. "Thank you."

Yeen's expression was not the least bit consoling. The green worker's eyes bore the same conflicted sadness they'd shown on Earth, when he'd promised to return for a man who would most likely not survive their parting. It caused an unwelcome ache in the human's chest to know that he was the cause of such a resurfacing.

"You're _very_ lucky to be here," Yeen stated plainly, knowing full well this was not news to anyone.

"Yeah..." Wikus answered quietly.

"A few minutes later and you'd have been-"

"I _know_," Wikus interrupted, more to refrain from hearing the gory details than to help the conversation, "but I'm not..."

"_**Why**__ would you leave me_?" Yeen almost pleaded. "What could possibly have been **that** important?"

Wikus furrowed his brow, momentarily stymied by this change in demeanor, and then he remembered. "Oh! You won't believe it!" he said excitedly, pushing himself into a sitting position with a fair amount of difficulty. "I saw a woman!"

Yeen was thoroughly perplexed. "A _human_?"

"**Yes**!" Wikus waved his hands manically as he began to recall the escapade.

"...in...Keehar..."

"Yes!"

"That's not possible..."

"I _know_, it shouldn't be, but she was right there! I tried to get you to follow, but...I guess that didn't..."

"No. It did not," Yeen grumbled, though he had to admit his curiosity was piqued. "What did this person look like?"

"Mm, well, she had dark skin and hair, a lot like the people from home, you remember?" Yeen nodded to show that he did. "And she was dressed in silky, green...I don't know, scarves, all around her, with jewels and cords, and she was with three of these...oh, man, I can't remember the name...they look like camels...ah, you don't know what that is, um...long faces, big long ears, tan," Wikus gestured emphatically with his hands as he tried to mime his thoughts.

"...Majhatugha?" Yeen guessed.

"Yes! Yeah, and they all had the same clothes, but in different colors, and it was like they were escorting her somewhere...I mean, I ran like crazy and I couldn't keep up..."

"That...would have been the royal family..." Yeen muttered, now entirely baffled. Wikus was describing something he could not have known beforehand and yet, such a sight in Keehar was utterly unheard of, if not downright impossible.

Wikus was delighted to be able to share the reason for his reckless abandon at last, even more thrilled that his partner, too, was taken aback by the odd turn of events. Unfortunately, it was apparent that this report, however remarkable, was not going to get him off the hook. As Yeen rubbed at his temple forlornly, his human charge attempted to vindicate his position further.

"Honestly, Chris, I _never_ would have thought I could lose you like that..."

The drone glanced up at his partner without raising his head. "I had a little trouble with the crowd."

"Oh...yeah...but, I mean, you weren't hurt, right?"

"No...just delayed...a few seconds can make a big difference in a place like Keehar. If you'll recall..."

"Well..." Wikus faltered apologetically, "...it's...I couldn't just let her go, eh?...I had to try...something..."

"All that preparation we did..."

"I know..."

"You were almost _killed_-"

"_I know_! What can I say? I'm sorry-"

"...and the General..."

"Oh- he's not mad, is he?"

Yeen shot the man a look that was instantly affirmative.

"W- I mean, it's not like he's going to **kill** me. He wouldn't save my life just so he could bring me back and rip me apart...right?" Wikus forced a chuckle that had no humor behind it.

"Do you not understand how important you are to us?" Yeen persisted, ignoring the question.

Wikus's dumbfounded expression made it evident that this was not understood and Yeen sighed as he continued. "Your sacrifice for our people..._this_," he lifted the chain again, "this isn't a thing that happens often. Your story will have made it all the way home by now...you're a part of our _history_. There will not be a child born from this day onward that will not learn your name."

Wikus opened his mouth to speak but found himself at a loss. Yeen's exposition seemed logical, but he never would have considered it in those terms.

"And Tarzier," Yeen went on as he resumed rubbing at his head, "he comes from a long line of powerful leaders. He wasn't put in command of this offensive by chance. His family is as prestigious as any warrior's has ever been. If he were to come back _without_ you...he'd be a _disgrace_-"

"Then...why did he let me go?" Wikus interjected brusquely, sounding more accusatory than he intended.

"Because I asked him to."

"But-...I don't follow..."

"You're a _grown man_," the drone answered sternly, yet again irritated that he should have to explain such a concept, "you're free to make your own choices. And after you'd achieved so much this year...it would have seemed unfair not to let you decide for yourself. Besides...would you have taken 'no' for an answer?"

"_Well_," Wikus shot back with every intention of defending himself, though he was forced to admit that his partner spoke the truth, "...I guess not."

As Wikus slouched on the table, fiddling his hands glumly, Yeen couldn't hide his empathy. It was probably best, after all, to focus on what was, rather than only on what might have been. "You did _very well_, really," he added affectionately, "up until that last bit."

"Yeah?" Wikus replied with half a smile.

"Yes. The General will have to recognize that."

"Okay, look," Wikus continued in earnest, "I'll explain everything to him, don't worry. I'll make sure he knows this was all _my_ fault-"

"_Wikus_..."

"No! Listen, I won't let you take this one!"

"_Do you think I care about that?_" the green poleepkwa interjected with such vigor it stopped the human in his figurative tracks. "I almost _lost_ you. Don't you understand what you mean to _me_? And to Joji, and Brutus...you're a part of my _family_. I love you."

Wikus sat with his mouth still slightly agape as those words took root in his brain. He came to realize it was the first time they'd ever been spoken between them. In fact, he hadn't heard that proclamation since the _last_ time he'd had a human body, and then, it had been from Tania. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and, in many ways, it was. Back then, he never would have thought he could feel anything _close_ to love for a creature from another galaxy, not if he lived for a thousand years. It was miraculous how much circumstance could change a person's state of mind.

"...I love you, too," Wikus answered honestly, "...and I really am sorry."

Yeen did not reply, but his kind smile was all the reconciliation and comfort Wikus could have wanted. The drone stood and with the utmost tenderness, looped the sparkling chain around his human's neck, returning it to its rightful place. Leaving his hand upon the man's neck, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Wikus's. The pair remained in the embrace for the moment, taking blissful solace in each other's company.

No sooner had skin and plated exoskeleton parted than the bay doors flew open, the soft tranquility of the infirmary sliced apart by the fury of General Tarzier. He crossed the room in a few swift strides, kicking a neatly organized tool cart out of his way as he did so. The cart crashed to the far wall and Grenyo's pristine implements scattered across the floor with a painful racquet.

Terrified, Wikus huddled meekly on his table, wishing he'd had the forethought to at least dress. Yeen, though just as anxious, stood upright beside his friend to face whatever punishment the General felt they'd earned.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" Tarzier bellowed down at the defenseless Earthling, his false eye blazing like a blast furnace.

Wikus was unable to produce words of any coherence as he trembled in the shadow of the massive soldier. Much to his dismay, Yeen seemed almost eager to speak for him. "Sir, " the drone began firmly, and was immediately cut off.

"**Go**." Tarzier commanded, jabbing a powerful arm at the door without taking his eyes off of the floundering man.

"No, Sir, please, I need to speak..." Yeen persisted, and this insubordination definitely garnered the General's attention. His mandibles roiling furiously, Tarzier glared at the comparatively small poleepkwa as though he'd just spit in his supper. Had any other drone directly disobeyed such a command, he'd surely be a limb or two short by now. But of course, this was not just any insolent worker. Yeen's service to his people afforded him a hero's standing as well and the battle-worn warrior was clearly conflicted.

Wikus would have given anything to keep his companion from throwing himself in front of that train, but he knew interrupting now would only make things worse. He glanced nervously between the two poleepkwa as Yeen continued.

"Wikus does not deserve the full penalty, he behaved admirably in Keehar. There was one unforeseen event that caused this and it got out of hand. For both of us. He was in my care at the time, whatever punishment you give him, you _must_ give me as well."

It was plain that Yeen was fearful, yet he stood his ground gallantly. Wikus knew this was certainly the first time he'd ever defied an officer; it seemed his accidental entanglement with humans was leading him into all kinds of new and dangerous territory. The man was desperate to intervene, but he was simply coming up blank. What could he possibly say that would help now?

"That is what you want?" Tarzier growled, "To throw your lot in with his?"

"Yes, Sir. He is my Sugati."

The General had clearly not expected that particular epithet and he fixed the drone in a calculating, unblinking gaze as he deliberated. For what seemed like minutes nothing was spoken; Wikus and Yeen dared not move as they waited for a verdict. When Tarzier finally answered, his voice was firm but controlled.

"So be it."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Sewer Duty**

Two days after the excursion to the spaceport, with their entire aggregation accounted for, both the Fiordraa and the Noota had left the desert world behind and set out together towards home. Meanwhile, inside the Fiordraa's capacious hull, an elevator rumbled down into the literal bowels of the freighter, transporting its two passengers to their appointed mission. Wikus glanced sideways at the stoic green drone, wishing the poleepkwa was more overt with his thoughts. He hadn't shown the least bit of hostility or regret since they'd been saddled with this assignment; he was taking it all in stride with admirable confidence. Wikus would have felt so much better about the predicament if his friend had shown a little remorse, or given him a bit of a cold shoulder, _anything_. But Yeen's "that's just the way it is" attitude was, from a human standpoint, frustrating. It might have been inspired from the fact that they were on their way to work and not to the ICU. As the drone had explained to his human, punishments were typically physical in nature. A work assignment, as opposed to a bodily injury, was tantamount to a slap on the wrist. Coming from a land that generally frowned upon utilizing dismemberment as a disciplinary tool, Wikus was not as eager to embrace the silver lining, especially considering the nature of their mission.

As a self-sustaining environment, the ship recycled all organic matter, from food scraps to waste. A network of pipes funneled the material towards the center of the vessel and down, where complex machines separated the vile slurry into its base elements. It was stored until a replicator called for whatever arrangement of molecules was needed to assemble the requested item. When Wikus had first discovered that his replicated snack might have been constructed using molecules from yesterday's bowel movement, he'd refused to touch anything from the machines for a month, much to the bewilderment of his cabin mates. It seemed that the human had only just recovered from his phobia and now he was going to get a firsthand look at the process.

As material channeled through the works, the interior of the massive pipes gradually became encrusted and needed to be scrubbed clean. Yeen and his Sugati were to spend the next 40 days performing this chore in place of their normal daily routines, a situation neither of them were too keen to address.

In spite of his revulsion, Wikus couldn't deny that he was intrigued by the new tool he'd been lent. The Organic Disarticulator was a clunky and utilitarian cousin of the Arc Rifle. It was shorter and lighter, with a wide-set pair of prongs that fired an electric wave in place of a bolt. Instead of destroying its target, the lower intensity beam effectively broke apart all caked-on matter to leave the surface of any metal comparatively clean. Reluctant though he was to climb into a sewer, Wikus was still looking forward to seeing the gun in action.

"Don't start that up in here," Yeen instructed calmly, glancing sideways at his companion as Wikus fiddled with the Disarticulator's controls.

"Hm? Why? What'll it do?"

"Short out the elevator, most likely..."

"Riiight. And we'd get in trouble for that, too..."

"And extend our sentence."

"And that'd be _bad_," Wikus simulated an ignorant tone, attempting to tease a smirk from his partner.

"I certainly think so," Yeen replied with a twitch of his antennae, though it was clear there was no irritation behind the statement.

With any ice effectively broken, Wikus presented a sentiment he felt needed more elucidation. "Look, Chris, I never wanted to get you tangled in _this_," he said as he gestured at the both of them. "Don't get me wrong, it means a lot that you'd stick by me...it's more than some of my past...the other people in my life...have done. But I should be doing this on my _own_, you didn't do anything _wrong_."

"We are Sugati, are we not?" Yeen answered plainly.

"Yes."

"You remember what that means?"

"Of course..."

"What happens to you, happens to me. You might keep that in mind in the future," Yeen grinned at the apologetic man. Wikus paused to savor the influence of his partner's outstretched kindness before he returned the good-natured smile.

Although there were plenty of other subjects he still wanted to discuss, the clunk of the elevator as it reached the lowest level marked the end of their present conversation. As the bulky door slid aside, Wikus stumbled a half-step back involuntarily. The pungent smell of waste was unmistakable and unwelcome, but it was their new supervisor that took the human by surprise. Waiting just on the other side of the elevator door was Druk, a drone who had been the Fiordraa's head Waste Engineer for longer than any but Ruwala could recall, and Wikus didn't need the poleepkwa's dossier to figure that out.

Druk was a fairly hefty drone with a posture that was even more hunched than what was normal for his species. His natural shell pattern was utterly indiscernible; the worker was coated in a second carapace of filth. His entire body was a mucky, clotted brown mess that Wikus suspected was probably permanent. Without neatly maintained plates, Druk's facial expression was very difficult to read, but he didn't appear particularly pleased to have taken on new subordinates.

In attempting to decipher the drone's attitude, Wikus found himself stuck on his remarkable eyes. They were a deep and brilliant violet, the only spark of pleasing color to be found on the worker or in his surroundings. But in spite of their vivid hue, there was undoubtedly something...off. The eyes were distant, unexpressive and cold, as if the person behind them was somehow absent. It seemed only logical, Wikus surmised; a lifetime in a cesspool would make _anyone_ loony.

"This way," Druk grunted in lieu of a greeting, and turned to lumber away. With his thick stature, soil coating and hunkered gait, he looked very much like a bear that had _almost_ learned to walk on its back legs. Wikus glanced up at his companion with an implicit reluctance, but Yeen could only offer a gentle nod of his green head and the pair followed their temporary boss.

It was difficult for Wikus to decide if the space they had entered was actually a room or just the area outside of a massive mechanism. Everything that surrounded him was either a pipe, a bundle of wires or a control panel. Adequate light and fresh air seemed scarce but grime was most definitely plentiful. The Earthling felt like an ant crawling inside the engine of a car; the bug-men he accompanied only aided the illusion.

After a short march the trio stopped at a circular hatchway in the floor, or more accurately, in the top of the huge sewage tunnel they'd been walking on. As Druk stabbed at the controls, the interlocking segments of the hatch spiraled open to admit access into the pitch-black interior. A vile aroma wafted up to meet them and confirm that this was undoubtedly the source of "that stench you've been smelling". Wikus recoiled predictably, wrinkling his nose and suppressing a gag, while Yeen, ever indomitable, reacted with only a waver of his mandibles.

"Start here," Druk commanded dispassionately, pointing at the hole before their feet. Wikus grimaced, wondering if it might be too late to exchange their punishment for the limb-ripping thing. His reluctance was quite justified given their worrisome lack of gear. They'd been set upon this task with nothing more than the Disarticulators, goggles, headlamps and an injection of something promised to ward off any unfriendly microbes. Dressed in his usual attire, Wikus had carefully tucked his pant legs into his boots, but at this point, it seemed like a dismally futile precaution.

Without protest, Yeen situated his goggles and descended the ladder into the darkness. Wikus caught a surly glare from Druk and hastened to follow suit. The short steps and handholds fixed to the inside of the tunnel were slick with grime and it was only a swift catch by his partner that kept the man from landing on his backside. Instead, his boots found the tunnel floor with a wet _splutch_. No sooner had he righted himself than the hatch ground shut above and the pair hurried to light their lamps.

"He seems a little put-off," Wikus choked, jerking a thumb towards the door.

"Yes," Yeen agreed, looking around curiously. " I'm told he's very protective of this facility...he doesn't like just _anyone_ working in it..." While the green drone was quite familiar with the operation of the freighter's sewer system, he realized he'd never actually been inside it before. The pipe they were currently locked in was one of the largest, just sizable enough for a drone to stand upright without bending an antenna. They stood at the head of the tunnel, where smaller pipes connected to input their waste. Naturally they were closed off today, leaving only a trickle of liquid nastiness running along the floor of the main tunnel. The walls were uneven and greasy, completely coated with residue. They surely had plenty of work to do, provided the Earthling could regain his composure. Wikus was doubled over beside his caretaker, making some rather concerning noises.

Yeen bent over and placed a hand gently on his human's back. "Are you okay?"

"_**Uuughch**_, 'r'you kidding?" Wikus groaned miserably. In an attempt to bolster himself for what promised to be a physically strenuous day, he'd eaten a characteristically robust breakfast; a decision the repulsed Earthling was quickly regretting. "I think...I'm gonna be _sick_..."

"Well, go ahead. You're in the right place for it," Yeen sighed.

Wikus couldn't tell if there was any humor in his friend's remark but it didn't matter. In a few short seconds his semi-digested meal lay in a sloppy pile around his feet. For a moment, still coughing and spasming, Wikus mourned the loss of his beloved boots. They, like the rest of his outfit, would only ever be worn for this task and afterward, discarded. The wizards in Manufacturing had already produced perfect replacements, but as was typical for a human, Wikus had an emotional attachment to this pair of shoes. They'd been through a lot together in the past year and this was hardly an honorable send-off.

"Feeling any better?" Yeen hoped.

"Ech. No," Wikus sputtered, wiping at his mouth. "Now it smells like crap _and_ vomit. My _god_, why would they make anyone _do_ this? Can't it be done with machines?"

"Of course. You see those?" Yeen directed his light at a bulge beneath the muck that ran in a complete circle against the wall of the pipe. "Those are scrubbers, they are what does the job in most cases-"

"_You mean we're only down here because of the penalty?_"

"Yes. I thought you knew..."

"_Oh_ my god, man, I am **SO** sorry," Wikus cried, doubling over and bracing himself against his knees again.

Yeen hastened to comfort his charge. "Yes, I know, but you needn't be. We'll be fine. It won't seem so bad once you get used to it. And speaking of," he said as he drew the Disarticulator forward, "we had better get to work. If we don't get it done properly they'll keep us down here even longer."

"No no no, we don't want _that_," Wikus agreed fervently as he gathered himself.

"Right. Now, like this..." Yeen clasped the grip of the Disarticulator and like its lethal cousins, it whirred to life in response to a poleepkwan touch. As he aimed it above his head and squeezed, the device spat forth a foot-wide blue sheet of light through which a bright static bolt wavered to and fro. Slowly, Yeen dragged the beam across the wall of the pipe and stopped at his feet. Sizzling softly, the energy wave effectively dislodged all debris, leaving a blackened but smooth path in the sludge. "You see? Simple. I'll take this side, and you face that way," Yeen instructed, pointing behind himself.

"M'kay..." Wikus complied, and imitated the action his partner had just demonstrated. Side by side, the pair scoured the tunnel walls clean...sweep, side step, sweep, side step, falling neatly into a grungy routine. While most of the dirt fell to the floor, some of the wetter material sprayed backwards and after a few hours of incessant work, both laborers were well coated in slime. Wikus was especially uncomfortable, no longer able to breathe through his mouth and with no carapace to separate him from the mess. Yet he had no choice but to adapt Yeen's attitude and resign himself to his work. There was plenty on his mind to distract him, after all; predominantly, the mysterious person who had gotten them into this fix in the first place.

"Say, Chris," Wikus wondered out loud, raising his voice above the static, "what did Ruwala say to you when you spoke yesterday? Anything interesting? About the woman, I mean..."

"Not really...he was very vague about the whole thing."

"Yeah. That's what I got, too." Wikus frowned. He'd hated that debriefing, having to stand before the person who'd been so kind and adoring, explaining why he'd let her down. Surprisingly, she'd reacted very little. Ruwala had listened to his entire tale patiently and, when he had finished, she'd told him how glad they all were that he was safe and sent him on his way. Nothing more. He just couldn't shake the feeling that there was much more to this incident than he'd ever suspected in Keehar.

"He doesn't blame you, you know," Yeen continued.

"What?"

"For chasing after her like that. He believes that what you saw was real."

"Really?" Wikus chirped excitedly.

"That does _not _excuse you from wrongdoing," Yeen interjected firmly when he noted the expression on his friend's face.

"No! Of course not," Wikus smiled. "But...then, what does that mean? Will they do anything about it...it's illegal for a race inside the Tri-Galactic Commission to discover a new planet and not register it, right?"

"Yes. Very. But our people's relationship with the Majhatugha is good, it always has been. If our Council starts asking questions outright, they may take it as a suspicion of guilt..."

"And start some sort of war."

"Correct. It's an interesting piece of information, and Ruwala loves to work on these kinds of problems. I doubt he'll ignore it. But it may take years before any news surfaces. It's...not high on the list of issues the Council must address..."

"Yeah. I figured as much," Wikus sighed. It was human nature to want an immediate solution to every dilemma, and even more so to bend to the whim of curiosity. He had no doubt that he'd continue to chase the elusive woman through his dreams, just as he would always revisit the memory of Tania's loving embrace. Yet, to dwell on the past too intensely would mean neglecting the future, and that would definitely be a foolish mistake considering where he was headed. Finding a balance, that was the trick. For now, his immediate concern was simply getting through the day and into a hot (and well-earned) bath.

* * *

**Epilogue**

"_Ich_...three more days..." Wikus contorted his face as he sniffed at his freshly washed skin. It had been the longest 37 days of the man's life, spent in the sewers of the Fiordraa. The work was not only disgusting, it was horribly monotonous and tough on the back and shoulders. At the close of every day, he and Yeen would retire to bathe, plastered from head to toe in filth. The poleepkwa seemed to have more success at removing the odor with a customary steam-clean. But Wikus could still smell the funk clinging to his flesh, no matter how vigorously he scrubbed. He was desperately hoping it was temporary. Hair, in particular, held on to the smell and with a portion of it directly beneath his nose, he'd opted to shave off his mustache, at least for the time being. The missing feature had a drastic effect on his appearance, something Brutus felt the need to comment on nearly every day. Three days left, and he could put the entire ugly affair behind him for good. Life would return to normal.

By contrast, the Ulu Mahan had fared superbly. Wikus couldn't bear to take the prized artifact off so he always made sure to tuck it into his shirt. This did almost nothing to spare it from the sludge, but one would never have known. Not a speck of anything foul seemed to stick to the necklace or its jewel. It rested in its proper place against Wikus's chest, sparkling pristinely.

Wikus ambled down the dark corridor towards his room, the chill air especially noticeable at his temples and nape where his hair was still a bit damp. Bed was the only thing on his mind now; the chance to rest his sore body curled up in a bundle of cozy fluff. As he turned to make his way down the appropriate hall, a deep voice startled him and he bumped against the wall as he spun around.

"_Wikus_."

"Yes! Sir," Wikus faltered, uneasy in the shadow of General Tarzier. The human waited nervously for the hulking soldier to make his purpose known. Tarzier hadn't spoken a word to him since the day of his sentencing and Wikus had no idea what might be coming. Naturally, he expected the worst.

Rather than an admonishment, the General held a hand out towards the edgy Earthling. It took Wikus a second or two to realize he had a tiny data chip pinched between his long fingers. "This has been declassified," Tarzier stated frostily. "We thought you'd like to have it."

"Oh!...w- thank you..." Wikus puzzled as he cupped his hands and accepted the chip. Tarzier gave the alien a faint nod of his head and strode away, almost certainly the closest thing Wikus would ever get to "apology accepted." He turned the little bit of tech over between his pruned fingers, but it bore no marking or indication of what it might hold. Stymied, he hurried on to the cabin with his gift and a small parcel of optimism.

Inside the room, the lights dimmed, an exhausted Yeen sat on the edge of his partner's bed. It was Joji's turn to play host to his pair of playmates and the trio was finally settled quietly inside the upper bunk.

"They asleep?" Wikus said softly.

"Yes, finally," Yeen sighed, rubbing at his head. "I can barely stay awake..."

"I know what you mean. But, look!" Wikus announced as he held out the chip.

"What is on it?"

"No idea. Tarzier gave it to me just now. He said I'd want it..."

"I think I understand. Let's take a look," Yeen offered as he made himself comfortable inside Wikus's bunk. Delightedly, Wikus pulled off his boots and clambered into the bed as well. Once situated, Yeen helped fold the pelts around his Sugati and then inserted the chip into the wall port's memory slot. The hovering screen blipped to life and a huge cache of video and data was revealed. As Yeen started the recorded video, Wikus watched with wide and astounded eyes.

Upon the little data chip was every iota of knowledge the poleepkwa had amassed about planet Earth. As soon as the Fiordraa had come into range, it had begun to scan the globe, starting with a view of the world in its entirety. It closed in to show the African continent, then closer...aerial views skimmed across the southern land and its deserts and shorelines, mountains and marshes, green grasslands peppered with wildlife. And closer still, the crystal-clear scans inspected every square mile of Johannesburg. They had arrived on the day when the conflict in District 10 had reached its peak and most of the city was in turmoil, but even so, there it was. The scans were so close, Wikus could see the people on the streets, his favorite burger stand, his old elementary school, even the home he'd once shared with his beloved wife, down to the flowers she'd planted in the back garden.

"Wow...look at that..." Wikus whispered.

"Home," Yeen smiled warmly.

"Yeah. Well, _one_ of them..." As Wikus gazed at images that filled him with the warmth and comfort of reminiscence, he was rather surprised to find that what they did not bring him was sadness. A year ago, yes; visions of home would have wearied his heart with longing. But as life's changes forced adaptation, he'd found his footing on new ground. Perhaps he'd grown a little, or it might have simply been that his wounds had healed up better than expected; probably both.

Regardless, Wikus knew where he was headed. If he'd been given the chance, at that very moment, to return to Earth and resume a human life, he would have refused. The truth was, he couldn't wait to see what would unfold for him and his new family as he followed this unique path. Granted, starting all over on an alien world would certainly have its perils, but he couldn't have been in safer hands. Humiliation, fear, remorse, even heartbreak would have no choice but to recede. Life was just too good.

_When one door of happiness closes, another opens,_

_but often we look so long at the closed door_

_that we do not see the one that has been opened for us._

**-Helen Keller**


End file.
